IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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112.8 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


:j  -vest  main  street 
webster,  ny.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 
Microfiche 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  he?  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  hi  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilteur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  iti  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  m^thode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquis  ci-dessous. 


□    Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 


I — I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 
D 


Couverture  endommagde 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurie  et/ou  pelliculde 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 

□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculdes 

r~~]    Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  f^  xed/ 
I'/  !    Pages  ddcolor^es,  tachet^es  o     ^iqu^es 


D 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 


0    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6tach6es 


D 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


D 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


□    Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualiti  indgale  de  I'impression 


D 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 


□    Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


n 


n 


Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

Lareliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajouties 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  dtait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6ti  filmdes. 


□    Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


D 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partieilement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t^  film^es  d  nouveau  de  facon  ct 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


D 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires; 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmi  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


y 


26X 


30X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

University  of  Sasitatchewan 
Sasl(atoon 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reprodult  grice  h  la 
gAn6rosi'^6  de: 

University  of  Saskatcliewan 
Saslcatoon 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reprodultes  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin.  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  netteti  de  l'exemplaire  filmi.  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
flimage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplalres  origlnaux  domt  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimte  sont  filmte  en  commen^ant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  ia 
dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impression  ou  d'illustratlon,  soit  par  ie  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplalres 
origlnaux  sont  fllmte  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  ^h^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  dee  symboies  suivants  apparaftra  sur  la 
derniire  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  ie 
cas:  le  symbols  — »•  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


IVIaps.  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  /is  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  Illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmte  A  des  taux  d9  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  ie  document;  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reprodult  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  fiimi  A  partir 
do  Tangle  supirieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

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FATHER  LAVAL; 


OB,  IHS 


JESUIT  MISSIONARY: 


^  9ftl<  4  tli4  S[0titb  ^m^tifim  Indians. 


BT 
JAMES    MoSHERB^ 

4IIVH0E  or  '*A  BX&iM>BT  OV 


f^t 


BALTIMOBB: 
PUBLISHED  BY  JOHN  MURPHT  &  00. 

182  Baltikori  SfllBt. 


fi'H  1 


223137 


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Xutend,  Mending  to  Aet  9i  CongTeit»  In  tiM  j««r  IMO^  tgr 

JOHN  MUBPHT, 

■4  •' 
irtlw  Clerk*!  Qffioe  of  the  District  Goart  of  the  United  BtatM  tn 

the  DistriotoTMarylMkL 


,.—      ^ 


mi 


w 


THIS  utti;e  story  was  dedicated 


TO  A 


l^ind  and  Jife^ttonai^  4^tltfi[, 


.. 


AKD   IS   NOW 


IKSCRIBED  TO  HIS   MEMORY 


BT  A 


(StiUiul  Sin%. 


arifa*^' 


.»,      ■'-«.'■■>,  1iWj>i,,tli»w,      I,        1 1 II  I  II  ji  BMuiHj 


T 


y 


5r-^*i5^^'»^--^'- 


€1. 


"^ 


PREFACE. 


^     ^ 


i'  ■) 


IHE  intention  of  the  writer  of  the  fol- 
lowing tale  has  been  to  portray^  at  least 
indistinctly^  one  of  those  magnificent 
scenes  in  which  the  Jesuits  of  the  Canada  mis- 
sions were  actors^  in  the  early  settlement  of  that 
country.  The  sufferings  of  the  missionaryi  his 
indomitable  courage  in  the  aposfblate,  and  the 
effect  of  Christianity  upon  the  Indian  convert^ 
are  the  principal  points  of  the  picture  which  he 
has  desired  to  present,  though  he  has  not  dared 
to  enter  into  all  the  terrible  details  of  the 
Mohawk  torture,  as  it  was  too  often  endured 
by  those  patient  and  heroic  martyrs.  The  foun- 
dation of  the  story  is  laid  upon  the  history  of 


mmm 


vr 


VI 


PRJEFA  CE, 


•  f 


Farther  Isaac  ^Jogues  j  though  the  resoae  in  th# 
narrative  is  entirely  fictitious^  yet  its  genera) 
bearing  is  not  at  variance  with  the  results  of 
his  adventures. 

Since  its  first  issue,  this  story  has  received 
the  compliment  of  a  republication  in  England, 
and  has  obtained  the  &vorable  notice  of  the 
jGatholic  press  of  tiais  country. 
^It  has  been  for  some  time  out  of  prints  and 
having  been  revised  and  enlarged,  the  Pub- 
liidbera  take  pleasure  in  again  offering  it  to  the 
public  in  a  new  and  more  inviting  dress. 


V. 


u- 


CONTENTS 


OHAPrn 

I.  Tri  M18SIORABT 

II.  Thi  Bkpabtubi 

III.  Tns  I118TRUUT1011 

lY.  Night  upon  thi  Waties 

y.  Trb  Gohfliot    k 

YL  Thi  Mo&x 

VII.  Thi  Rbtubn 

VIII.  Baptism  in  Bondaob 

IX.  Thb  Council 

X.  Thb  Tobtubb    . 

XL  Thb  Wbiath  or  Wild  Flowbbs 

XII.  Thb  Gonolusion        •        •     ,  • 


PA«I 

9 


.  8ft 
Ml 
.    7» 

•  91 
.106 
.  184 
.  166 
.  190 
.  208 


fit 


^^'M 


"»f(l,|IU  .,•,. 


J 


-  ^1 


I': 


i 


':x 


i 


FATHER  LAVAL. 


OH  AFTER  L 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


IN  the  year  of  our  Lotd  1642  the  varionA 
missionary  stations  of  the  Jesuits  through- 
out Canada^  or  New  France,  as  it  was 
then  called,  were  threatened  with  all  the^  wild 
fury  of  the  savage  and  untamable  Iroquois.  The 
Five  Nations  had  proved  themselves  the  most  un- 
conquerable in  their  hostility  t6  the  white  man, 
to  the  religion  which  he  taught,  and  the  civili- 
zation whicH  he  endeavored  to  introduce.  In 
vain  had  overtures  of  peace  been  made.  For  a 
time,  perhaps^  ad  if  slumbering  from  indol^de 

or  exhaustion,  they  ceased  to  ravage,  but  it  was 

9 


■■\ 


I 


!;'■,..' .,1.  IW  IWOJtm^TI 


rnrn^ 


i 


M 


10 


TffJS.  MISSfONART. 


only  tv^  break  forth  again  with  more  furious  en- 
ergy. Their  bands  of  braves  "  ranged  the  illim- 
itable forests,"  with  no  power  to  control  them, 
and  no  rivals  whom  they  dreaded.  They  trav- 
ersed the  St.  Lawrence  and  lakes  Erie  and  On- 
tario, and  they  struck  their  enemy  upon  the 
shores  of  Lake  Champiain. . 

Every  missionary  on  his  way  to  his  distant 
station  was  in  constant  danger  of  captivity  and 
death;  and  yet  never  were  those  stations  left 
unfilled  for  want  of  brave  and  devoted  men  to 
dare  all  the  terrors  of  the  route,  and  the  chances 
of  enduring  the  torture  at  the  villages  of  the 
Mohawks.  The  path  to  the  Huron  missions  was 
perhaps  more  completely  beset  fhan  any  other, 
for  the  Iroquois  had  succeeded  in. cutting  off,  or 
at  least  in  interrupting,  the  communication  be- 
tween Upper  and  Lower  Canada.  They  had 
possession  of  the  intermediate  passes. 

In  Quebec,  in  that  year,  the  feast  of  St.  Igna- 
tius, the  founder  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  was 
celebrated  with  no  ordinary  splendor.  The  fa- 
thers on  that  joyous  occasion  offered  up  with  full 
hearts  the  glorious  crown  of  souls,  gathered  from 


'<• 


i 


TEM  MISSIONARY. 


i' 


L' 


i 


11 


the  wilderness -^gathered  up  to  the  "greater 
honor  of  God  "  by  the  sons  of  St.  Ignatius,  from 
the  wandering  children  of  the  forest.  It  was  no 
feeUng  of  earthly,  glory  or  of  human  pride  that 
swelled  within  their  hearts  as  they  raised  them 
up  towards  heaven,  throbbing  high  with  exulta- 
tion. It  was  not  the  triumph  which  lightens  up 
the  eye  of  the  worldly  conqueror  and  curb  his 
lip,  that  made  their  step  more  stately,  and  their 
pale  features  glow  with  an  unwonted  flush« 
Th^  were  spiritual  soldiers;  and  they  felt,  in 
their  hearts,  the  glory  of  their  calling,  and  the 
martial  joy  of  victory  over  the  infernal  enemy 
against  whom  they  battled.  Many  a  full,  de^p 
voice  trembled  as  it  chanted  the  Solemn  service; 
age  prayed  with  its  chastened  calmness;  youth 
vowed  to  make  itself  more  worthy  of  the  glorious 
founder  under  whose  banneris  they  were  enlisted 
in  the  service  of  God.  Deep  was  the  feeling  that 
pervaded  all  hearts  on  that  memorable  festival. 

Among  the  priests  who  knelt  at  the  altar,  was 
one  remarkable  for  his  worn  and  sunburnt  aspect, 
A  little  l)eyond  the  fiill  prime  and  strength  of 
nctanhood,  witii  the  nobility  of  nature  stamped 


inia 


1^ 


THE  MISSIONAltT. 


fc 


upon  his  brow^  he  was  a  man  caloulated  to  strike 
the  attention  of  all  who  looked  upon  him.  And 
yet  there  was  nothing  hard  or  stern  in  those 
grave,  calm  features ;  they  were  the  true  picture 
,of  a  good  and  gentle  heart,  a  mind  tutored  in  the 
patient  and  enduring  school  of  Xavier  and  Loy- 
ola, a  will  subdued  and  mortified.  Father  Jean 
Laval  was  preparing  himself  for  a  renewal  of  his 
arduous  mission  in  the  western  wilderness.  A 
few  weeks  of  rest  and  relaxation  had  elapsed 
since  he  had  completed  the  perilous  voyage  from 
the  missions  at  the  falls  of  St.  Mary,  between 
lakes  Huron  and  Superior,  and  now  he  was 
assisting  for  the  last  time  for  many  months,  it 
might  be  for  ever,  with  his  brethren  of  Quebec, 
at  the  holy  mystery  of  the  altar.  And  yet  the 
perilous  voyage  before  him  did  not  appear  to 
weigh  upon  his  mind.  Abstracted  from  all 
earthly  things,  his  soul  seemed  only  the  more 
closely  wrapt  in  the  contemplation  of  things 
heavenly.  Not  so  with  many  a  full  heart  in 
that  thronged  temple  of  Grod :  but  the  fulness  of 
their  hearts  only  made  them  mingle  more  fer- 
vently with  their  prayer«i  the  name  of  him  on 


\\- 


I  L 


mkmmmm 


TBE  MtSSIONA R  T. 


n 


n- 


I 


whom  their  eyes  now  rested  with  such  deep  love 
and  admiration.  He'  was  going  once  more  to 
that  nation  of  pious  Indians  of  whom  they  had 
heard  such  joyful  tidings — :who  clustered  to  the 
true  altar  of  God  in  thousands ;  a  Christian  peo- 
ple in  the  wilderness.  He  was  going  to  enlarge 
the  empire  of  the  gospel^  to  plant  the  cross  in 
new  regions,  to  face  new  dangers,  it  might  be  to 
win  a  martyr's  crown.  It  was  a  noble  spec- 
tacle to  them,  a  spectacle  of  Christian,  chivalric 
devotion. 

At  length  the  last  chant  of  the  solemn  mass 
had  ceased  to  swell  in  the  crowded  aisle ;  the 
benediction  had  been  given,  and,  silently  and 
with  holy  recollection,  the  worshippers  departed 
to  their  homes.  A  small  group  of  Indians  alone 
remained  before  the  church.  In  a  few  moments 
Father  Laval,  in  his  cassock,  accompanied  by 
another  priest  of  his  order,  issued  from  the 
sacristy,  where  he  had  disrobed,  and  advanced 
towards  them. 

"My    dear    children,"    he    said,    "all    my 
arrangements  are  completed :  we  will  depart  to- 
morrow.   Our  Superior  so  wills  it," 
2 


■"e. 


■  »IP      <ll  — — — 1P*»^ 


mm 


.>,.ii|^,  ^ii   I  ..f   I  / 


U 


JVffJB  MIBSIONART. 


*,^ 


/ 


"It  18  good,"  Implied  one  of  their  number^ 
who  appeared  to  be  the  chief  of  the  party. 
^^Ahasistari  hears  his  father,  the  blackgown." 

"At  daybreak,  then,  sachem— " 

"The  Hurons  will  be  ready."  And  the 
party  separated,  Father  Laval  and  his  compan^i; 
ion  pursuing  their  walk  to  the  house  of  their 
Ord«\ 

'  "  Ah,  iny  friend,  what  a  glorious  lot  is  yours  I 
Yoti  go  i»  carry  the  cross  of  Christ  to  the 
heathen  I  Oh !  shall  we  not  envy  you  the  inesti- 
mable happiness  of  being  thought  worthy  of  such 
high  honor?  "  fervently  exclaimed  the  companion 
of  Father  Laval. 

"No,  my  brother :  rather  pray  for  me  that  my 
unworthinL  may  not  render  fruitless  the  praye« 
of  the  good  and  pious  in  behalf  of  the  benighted 
Indian.  And  yet  it  is  a  glorious  field  of  labor; 
80  rich)  so  sweet,  so  ftiU  of  consolation;  all  its 
toils  and  daugere  well  repaid  by  the  happy  privi- 
lege*  of  winning  souls  to  God." 

"  And  happy  are  the  auspices.  Father  Laval ! 
On  this  festival  of  our  great  saint,  you  prepare  to 
add  new  glory  to  his  name  on  earth,  by  bringing 
new  children  to  the  fold  of  Christ." 


W 


TEE  MISSfONART. 


IS 


\ 


"  And  to-morrow,  Father  Anthony,  to-morrow 
is  the  feast  of  ^  the  chains  of  St  Peter  J '' 

"Happy  coincidence,  my  brother,"  exclaimed 
Father  Anthony.  "You  go  on  that  day  forth 
to  bind  the  savage  in  the  chains  of  Peter,  to 
win  wandering  children  to  the  footetool  of  his 
Master.'  '* 

"  Or  to  wear  my  chains  like  him ;  but,  alas !  I 
am  not  deserving  of  such  favor.  I  shall  not  be 
deemed  worthy  of  suffering  for  him  who  died  for 
me.  Oh,  happiness !  oh,  bliss  I  I  dare  not  hope 
for  thee  1" 

"Happy  apostle!  happy  in  the  chains  and 
sufiering  you  may  be  worthy  of  enduring. 
We,  thy  brethren,  seek  a  remembrance  in  thy 
prayers.^' 

"Father  Anthony  Daniel,"  said  the  mis- 
sionary, slowly  and  thoughtfully,  as  they  reached 
the  end  of  their  walk,  "  it  shall  be  thine  next." 


mmmm 


IK  mi  m' 


•m^ 


•  n  "*— 


CHAP  TUB  II 


'kmn 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


W 


li 


|N  the  following  mom,  the  first  day  of 
August,  a  gallant  fleet  of. war  canoes 
floated  gayly  from  beneath  the  guns  of 
Fort  Quebec.  The  plumed  and  painted  Indians, 
bowing  their  strength  to  the  paddles,  sent  their 
light  and  graceful  barks  rapidly  into  the  mid- 
waters  of  the  broad  St.  Lawrence.  The  sun 
was  just  rising,  and  breaking  dim  and  red 
through  the  heavy  mists  that  overhung  the 
river ;  yet  ere  the  last  canoe  swept  into  the  line, 
the  veil  of  vapor  began  to  disappear  before  its 
powerful  rays.  Breaking  into  light  clouds,  it 
rose  and  floated  slowly  away  towards  the  south, 
while  streams  of  sunshine  poured  brightly 
through  each  opening,   lighting  up    the  earth 

with  a  rich  glow,  and  clothing  the  placid  boson\ 

16 


I 


I 


rl 


I 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


17 


of  the  river  with  a  robe  of  gold.  As  the  mist 
di.  persed,  the  scene  around  became  distinct  in 
its  full  beauty,  and  the  infant  city  seemed  to 
waken  up  to  life  and  activity.  A  crowd  of 
citizens  stood  upon  the  quay,  gazing  eagerly 
and  fondly  on  the  receding  fleet,  as  if  it  con- 
tained some  dear  object  upon  which,  perhaps, 
they  might  be  looking  for  the  last  time. 

In  the  rearmost  and  largest  canoe  were  the 
only  two  white  men  of  the  party  —  Father 
Jean  Laval  and  his  young  assistant,  the  novice, 
Rene  Bourdoise.  Guiding  the  canoe  in  which 
they  sat,  Ahasistari,  the  chief,  seemed  to  guard 
their  comfort  and  convenience  as  the  first  object 
of  his  care.  ^ 

The  vigorous  arms  of  the  Indian  rowers 
impelled  the  canoes  westward  up  the  St.  Law- 
rence, and  when  the  foremost  was  about  disap- 
pearing to  the  view  of  the  party  on  the  quay, 
Father  Laval  arose  in  the  trembling  bark,  and 
extentiing  his  hands  towards  heaven,  invoked 
again  that  blessing  upon  their  pilgrimage, 
which   he   had  already,  in   company   with   his 

brethren  and  whole  people,  so  earnestly  besought 
2»  B         - 


/  •    •  • . . 


18 


*  THE  DEP^ARTURE 


Then,  with  an  'afi€!6tiQnate  wave  of  his  hand, 
he  bade  adieu  to  his  distant  friends,  and 
resuming  his  seat,  bowed  his  head  in  silent 
prayer.  At  the  same  instant  a  wreath  of  smoke, 
accompanied  with  a  bright  flash,  burst  from  the 
walls  upon  the  heights  of  Abraham,  and  the 
heavy  sullen  roar  of  cannon  swept  in  a  moment 
more  across  the  waters,  while  the  cloud  of  smoke 
rose  slowly  and  spirally  towards  the  heavens. 
Father  Laval  raised  his  head  and  gazed  for  a 
single  instant  upon  the  standard  of  France,  as  it 
waved  over  the  impregnable  fortress,  and  then 
resumed  his  prayer  and  meditation.  No  sound 
now  broke  upon  the  ear  but  the  slight  splash  of 
the  paddle  as  it  dipped  lig:htly  but  vigorously  in 
the  stream,  and  the  murmuring  of  the  rippling 
current  around  the  sharp  bow  of  the  canoe  in 
its  rapid  course. 

The  young  novice  looked  upon  the  bright, 
glad  scene  around  him  with  a  subdued  pleasure, 
now  euriously  'watching  the  lithe  and  active 
forms  of  the  graceful  Indians  as  they  bent 
their  strength  to  their  paddles,  and  now  casting 
his  eye  towards  the  glorious  scenery  that  bor- 


\ 


i 


:-J- 


\ 


if 


LIBRARY 

dei*ed  on  the  St.  T  ii  ii  1 1  iiii  liiiTfliliTTi  iwrlTi  1 1 
twenty  summers  had  he  numbered,  and  yet  he 
seemed  already  to  have  drank  in  the  severe  yet 
serene  lessons  of  the  Jesuit  school  of  endurance. 
Parting  from  the  midst  of  civilized  men,  going 
unarmed  and  defenceless  through  paths  waylaid 
by  a  remorseless  enemy,  he  exhibited  no  fear,  no 
regrets;  in  the  midst  of  novelty  and  the  une- 
qualled beauty  of  the  view  around,  he  permitted 
no  extravagant  sign  of  delight  to  escape  his  lips. 
He  subdued  the  transport  of  his  feelings  into 
the  calmness  of  tranquil  enjoyment,  and  by  his 
silence  and  serenity  won  the  admiring  regard  of 
the  stern  warriors  of  the  Hurons. 

At  length  Father  Laval  addressed  him: 
"  Rene,  my  son,  we  have  entered  happily  upon 
our  arduous  journey.  How  beautifiil  is  this 
earth  around  us,  which  God  has  given  to  man 
for  the  scene  of  his  pilgrimage.  He  is  a  good 
God,  my  children,  infinitely  loving:  if  he  has 
thus  cared  for  our  happiness  here,  in  this  sojourn 
on  earth,  what  has  he  not  prepared  for  the  fiuth- 
fiil  and  persevering  servant  in  hesaven?  Let  us 
m^itate  upon  his  infinite  goodnesB^und  mercy, 


1 


/ 


80 


TEE  DXPARTURS, 


and  love.    It  is  fitting  thus  to  begin  and  conse- 
crate our  labors." 

;  The  Indians  assented  with  the  usual  short  a«d 
subdued  exclamation :  and  for  a  space  no  sc^und 
was  heard  save  the  regular  strokes  of  the  pad* 
HeSy  while  the  canoe  proceeded  with  unslackened 
speed.  After  some  time  spent  in  meditation, 
the  good  priest  employed  himself  in  reciting  his 
office,  and  Bene  Bourdoise  gazed  calmly  down 
towards  the  receding  towers  of  Quebec  until  he 
caught  the  last  glimpse  of  the  lofty  flag-staff 
bearitig  the  banner  of  St.  Dennis.  As  the 
scenery  became  wilder  and  more  desolate,  his 
mind  began  to  reciX^  to  the  bright  scenes  of  his 
native  laiid,  and  to  visit  once  more  the  beautiful 
and  fertile  plains  of  France.  The  recollection  of 
home  and  early  friends,  of  parents  and  distant 
kindred,  came  rushing  ^pon  \he  youth,  casting  a 
dark  and  gloomy  hue  upon  the  prospects  before 
him.  Desolation  and  danger  seemed  to  deepen 
round  him ;  yet  suppressing  these  thoughts  with 
a  single  aspiration,  he  placed  himself  under  the 
illVoeation  of  the  Holy  Immaculate  Virgin,  and 
davoted  himsdf  without  reservB  to  tbe  will  of  Gbd. 


-4- 


\ 


«3 » 


4 


■#' 


^^> 


I 


«s  • 


•; 


■t 


-  I     ! 


rJSr^  DEPARTURE. 


21 


It  was  in  this  spirit,  and  with  such  disposi- 
tionSy  that  the  whites  of  the  paiirf  entered  oA 
their  voyage.  The  iiurons  were  seemingly 
indiSerent  to  every  thing  but  the  comfort  of 
those  whom  they  were  guiding  and  escorting  to 
the  hunting-grounds  of  their  tribe;  and  were  only 
warmed  into  life  and  animation  by  the  fervor  of 
their  hearts  when  absorbed  in  religious  exercises. 
They  displayed  in  nothing  that  there  was  danger 
of  assault,  whilst  they  were  prepared  for  any 
event. 

Father  Laval,  after  some  time,  closed  hi3  book, 
and  turning  towards  the  leader  of  the  party, 
addressed  him : 

"My  son,  what  think  you  is  the  prospect  of 
our  safely  passing,  by  the  waters,  to  the  Huron 
missions?  Were  it  not  better  to  land  and  cross 
the  forest  towards  the  Ottawa?'' 

After  a  moment's  pause,  Ahasistari  replied: 
'^  Father,  the  way**  is  long  and  toilsome  for  the 
white  man,  and  his  trail  is  broad.  The  Mohawk 
crosses  the  river,  and  his  eye  is  keen.  The  run- 
ning waters  keep  no  trail,  and  the  Huron  canoes 
are  swift  and  easy.    My  &ther,  I  swear  to  thee 


22 


TffJB  DEPARTURE' 


that  Ahasistari  will  share  thj  fortunes  whether 
of  death  or  life!" 

''To  your  skill  and  judgment  I  conade  the 
choice  of  the  route — the  issue  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  Almighty." 


\\ 


* 


ak 


i 


\ 


\ 
i 


\\ 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  INSTRUCTION. 


|F  the  Indians,  who  composed  the  escort 

of  the  missionaries,  some  were  not  jet 

baptized.  All,  however,  had  heard,  with 

devout  attention,  the  preaching  of  the  Jesuit. 

They  had  listened  to  him  as  the  messenger  of 

wonderful  tidings,  and  had  believed.     But  yet 

the  careful  priest  hesitated  long  to  admit  to  the 

regenerating  waters  of  baptism  those  of  th^ir 

number  who,  he  feared,  were    not    sufficiently 

instructed  in  the  faith  of  the  Catholic  Church. 

The     untaught    Indian,    accustomed    to    roam 

through  tl:  e  wilderness,  with  the  works  of  God 

forever  before  his  observant  eyes,  and  with  incom* 

prehensibilities  around  him,  unable  to  fatliom  the 

mysteries  of  nature,  nay,  the  mysteries  of  his 

own  life,  felt  within  himself  the  conviction  of  a 

28 


-^1^ 


24 


THE  INSTRUCTION. 


*" 


supreme,  invisible  Existence.  With  the  book  of 
nature  open  before  him,  and  nature's  vjice  ever 
in  his  ear,  he  might  well,  by  the  dim  light  of  his 
uncultivated  reason,  wander  into  the  labyrinths 
of  polytheism ;  but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
stifle  or  forget  the  instinctive  belief  of  humanity 
in  the  God  invisible,  supreme  over  all.  The 
unlettered  wanderer  in  the  boundless  forests  had 
reached  the  same  point  of  knowledge  at  which  it 
had  been  possible  for  the  sage  of  antiquity  to 
arrive.  He  worshipped  the  "  unknown  God.'* 
But  the  machinery  of  the  universe  was  beyond 
the  power  of  his  intellect,  and  he  found  a  minor 
deity  in  every  bird  and  beast  and  fish  and  tree 
and  stone.  When  the  Catholic  missionary 
preached  to  him  of  the  God  infinite,  supreme, 
eternal,  filling  all  space,  at  whose  will  the  world 
and  all  its  life  and  beauty  had  sprung  into  being, 
and  at  whose  will  the  earth  again  would  melt 
away,  who  was  the  Creator  and  the  Lord  of  all, 
and  "in  whom  all  things  lived  and  moved  and 
had  their  being;"  to  his  unsophisticated  mind, 
it  seemfed  worthy  of  the  great  Spirit  which  hia 
.instinct  had  sought  after  in  nature,  and  beyond 
nature,  in  vain.  \ 


l^E  INSTRUCTION. 


%. 


w 


The  piety  and  zeal  and  superior  knowledge  of 
the  missionary  had  won  him  credence,  and  when 
he  preached  to  them  of  the  Saviour  who  had  come 
upon  earth,  of  his  death  and  of  his  resurrection 
for  the  salvation  of  all,  and  unfolded  to  them  the 
evidences  of  Christianity,  they  listened  with  rev- 
erence to  his  words,  and  cherished  them  in  their 
hearts. 

In  his  own  canoe.  Father  Jean  Laval  had  placed 
two  of  his  neophytes  for  the  purpose  of  continu- 
ing their  instruction  during  the  voyage,  and  Bene 
Bourdoise,  in  order  that  he  might  be  schooled  in 
the  best  mode  of  conveying  knowledge  to  the 
simple-minded  savage. 

"  Huron,  dost  thou  know  who  created  thee  ? 
he  said,  addressing  the  elder  of  the  two,  a  warrio* 
of  some  note,  whose  instruction  he  had  but  latelj 
commenced. 

"  The  great  Spirit,  who  made  the  eaith  and 
the  waters  and  the  forests,"  replied  Haukimah. 

"And,  Huron,  did  he  make  the  buflPalo  and  the 
bounding  deer?" 

"Yes,  father;  the  buffalo  and  the  bounding 

deer,  and  all  things  else  that  live." 
8 


.t^fm^mmn^ 


26 


TffJE  INSTRUCTIQir. 


'^And  did  he  make  thee  and  me  like  ta 
them?" 

^'  My  fathers  taught  that  the  bufialo  and  the 
bounding  deer  departed  to  the  hunting-ground 
of  spirits  where  the  warrior's  shade  pursued 
them  as  here  on  earth.  It  is  wrong.  The 
blaokgown  teacheth  that  the  great  Spirit  made 
man  like  himself^  and  breathed  his  breath  into 
his  nostrils—heaven  was  made  for  the  man 
who  doeth  good.  The  wild  beast  dies  and 
perishes.*' 

Father  Jean  Laval,  from  the  foundation  of 
this  simple  questioning,  took  occasion  to  explain 
fully  and  minutely,  and  impress  deeply  upon  the 
mind  of  those  whom'  he  was  instructing,  the  his- 
tory of  man's  creation,  and  his  destiny,  his  fall, 
and  the  promise  of  his  redemption,  fulfilled  by 
the  coming,  the  passion,  and  the  glorious  death 
of  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  He  told  them  how 
man's  nature  became  corrupt  by  his  fall ;  how  he 
became  perverse  through  his  disobedience,  prone 
to  evil,  subject  to  all  the  temptations  of  the 
devil. 

''It  is  that  which  makes  the  Iroquois  cruel 


w 


4 


^^ 


! 


f 


THE  INSTRUCTION. 


27 


«t#' 


i\ 


ii 


and  blood-thirsty,"  said  the  younger  neophyte; 
"  the  spirit  of  evil  is  within  him." 

''As  he  is  with  all  bad  men,  my  son ;  as  he  is 
with  you  when  you  indulge  revengeful  fsjelings 
towards  the  Iroquois,  .when  you  would  do  them 
evil  for  evil.    You  must  love  those  who  hate 


if 


I 


you 

"Shall  the  Huron  love  the  Iroquois?"  ex- 
claimed the  young  warrior  as  his  eyes  glistened 
with  awakened  passipn,  and  his  head  was  ele- 
vated in  disdain;  "shall  the  dove  and  hawk 
nestle  together?" 

"  Is  the  Huron  a  dove  in  his  heart  ?"  broke  in 
the  deep  stem  voice  of  Ahasistari ;  "  the  dove  is 
tender.  The  Huron  brave  should  be  bold  and 
fearless  like  the  eagle." 

"  Let  the  Huron  be  a  dove  in  his  heart,"  said 
Father  Jean  Laval,  ere  the  young  Indian  could 
open  his  lips  again ;  "  let  him  be  a  dove  in  purity, 
in  meekness,  in  piety,  in  love.  Let  him  be  the 
eagle  of  his  tribe  when  he  battles  in  a  just  and 
lawful  cause!" 

"My  father  has  spoken  well,"  replied  the 
chief,  in  a  changed  and  sof!}enc<l  tone. 


^»^ 


m^ 


28 


TffH  IirSTR  VCTIOK. 


"Yes,  my  dear  children,  your  first  duty  is  to 
God,  the  great  Spirit;  your  next  is  to  your  neigh^ 
bor.  The  good  Spirit  created  you  and  all  men 
to  love  him  and  serve  him,  and  he  commands 
you  to  love  one  another,  even  your  enemies ;  to 
do  good  to  those  that  hate  you.  If  the  Iroquois 
is  fierce  and  bad,  pity  him,  and  pray  that  he  may 
become  better, — that  he  may  listen  to  the  mes- 
sengers of  Christ.  If  you  hate  the  Iroquois,  in 
what  are  you  better  than  he  ?'' 

"It  is  good,''  said  Ahasistari,  " it  is  like  a  Grod 
to  forgive." 

And  then  Father  Laval  proceeded  to  inculcate 
upon  his  hearers  the  virtues  which  were  neces- 
siary  to,  and  which  adorned  the  Christian,  show- 
ing how  the  principles  of  religion  were  entwined 
around  all  the  ties  of  life,  and  how  they  were 
connected  with  and  ruled  every  circumstance  of 
our  mortal  existence.  He  instructed  them  in  the 
rules  which  should  govern  them  in  their  intern- 
course  with  all  men,  and  the  charity  so  sublime 
and  superhuman  which  they  should  cultivate  in 
their  hearte.  Thus  seizing  every  word  and  every 
trifling  circumstance,  he  made  them  the  occasion 


\ 


'  rf 


% 


1 


li 


^^Kfli 


H 


i 


TSS  INSTRUCTION, 


29 


and  the  vehicle  of  useful  instruction^  and  the 
means  of  initiating  them  into  the  spirit  and 
practice  as  well  as  the  doctrines  of  the  Catholic 
Church. 

Occasionally,  to  relieve  their  minds  and  to 
break  the  continuous  length  bf  his  instructions, 
he  would  interpose  a  prayer,  and  occupy  himself 
in  teaching  them  the  responses  to  the  litanies  and 
the  prayers  of  the  rosary.  They  listened  with 
docility,  and  learned  with  quickness  the  portions 
assigned  to  them,  and  the  warriors  seemed  to  vie 
with  each  other  in  acquiring  that  great  and  super-* 
eminent  knowledge  which  the  father  of  the  black- 
gown  dispensed  to  them.  Thrice  a  day,  morning, 
noon,  and  night,  the  Jesuit  and  Rene  Bourdoise 
the  novice,  in  accordance  "vCith  their  previously 
adopted  resolution^  recited  a  portion  of  the  rosary 
to  procure,  through  the  intercession  of  the  mother 
of  God,  the  blessings  of  heaven  upon  their  mis- 
sion. Ahasistari  and  the  Catholic  Indians  joined 
in  the  responses  with  devoutness,  arid  seemed 
never  to  weary  under  their  labors  while  thus 
cheered  with  ihe  refreshing  dew  of  prayer. 

In  this  pious  occupation  the  day  passed  pleas- 

Is* 


> 


80 


TBS  INSTSUOTrON. 


I  f 


antly  aad  quickly  round.  Father  Laval,  each 
time  they  landed  to  prepare  their  frugal  repasts, 
assembled  the  whole  party  around  him,  gave 
them  a  short  instruction,  and,  having  blessed 
their  food,  sat  down  on  the  grass  with  them,  and 
dhared  their  frugal  fare. 

As  night  approached,  Ahasistari  began  to  look 
about  for  a  convenient  spot  to  bivouac  upon,  and 
at  length  selected  a  beautiful  and  secluded  inden- 
ture in  the  river  banks,  shaded  by  lofty  trees,  and 
protected  and  rendered  almost  impenetrable  from 
the  land  by  the  thick  undergrowth,  reaching 
some  distance  back  from  the  shore.  Here  they 
landed,  and,  drawiilg  up  their  canoes  upon  the 
bank,  prepared  to  pass  the  night  upon  the 
spot.  After  their  evening  meal  had  been  dis- 
patched. Father  Laval  was  about  to  commence 
an  instruction  or  exhortation  to  his  companions, 
when  Ahasistari  approached  him  respectfully, 
and  said : 

"My  father,  the  Mohawk  may  be  abroad;  his 
r»ar  is  quick!*' 

"  Perhaps  it  is  better,"  said  Father  Laval,  car- 
rying out  the  thought  of  the  other^. without  re- 


•! 


i( 


w 


> 


THE  INSTRUCTIOJtr. 


SI 


I 


1 


plying  directly  to  his  words ;  "  my  children, 
meditate  in  silence  on  what  you  have  been  taught 
this  day  and  pray  to  God  for  protection,  invoking 
the  intercession  of  Mary  our  holy  Mother/' 

"Wrapping  themselves  in  their  blankets,  after 
bending  their  knees  in  silent  prayer,  the  Indians 
stretched  themselves  upon  the  ground,  and  soon 
sunk  into  the  light  and  watchful  sleep  of  men 
accustomed  to  snatch  their  repose  in  the  midst  of 
danger.  The  Jesuit  and  Eene  Bourdoise  did  not 
so  easily  betake  themselves  to  slumber.  For  the 
novice  especially  was  in  a  situation  calculated  to 
drive  sleep  from  his  eyelids  until  nature  should 
sink  into  unconsciousness  from  exhaustion.  As 
he  lay  wakeful  and  apprehensive,  he  turned  his 
eye  frequently  upon  the.  form  of  Ahasistari, 
which,  in  the  indistinct,  light,,  was  barely  dis- 
cernible to  the  steady  gaze.  Occasionally  a 
bright  gleam  from  the  expiring  embers  would 
lighten  up  the  picturesque  figure  of  the  Indian. 
The  warrior  sat  at  tlie  foot  of  a  tree,  resting  his 
head  upon  his  hand  in  a  careless  manner,  which 
seemed  to  the  young  novice  to  be  the  attitude  of 
one  wrapt  in  thought  and  contemplation.    Aha- 


82 


THE  INSTRUCTION. 


sistari  was  meditating;  but  every  outward  sehse 
was  on  the  alert,  eager  to  catch  the  slightest 
sound  or  motion  on  the  forest  or  upon  the  mur- 
muring river.  The  stars  were  looking  down 
from  heaven  sweetly  and  tenderly,  shedding  a 
dim  light  upon  thfe  moving  waters,  whose  broken 
surface  reflected  the  countless  pencils  of  light  in 
myriad  forms  of  quivering  beauty.  Over  the 
deep  silence  of  the  forest,  broken  only  by  those 
mysterious  voices  of  the  night  which  render  the 
solitude  more  profound,  was  faintly  heard  the 
murmuring  of  the  waters  on  the  shore ;  so  faintly 
that  the  listening  ear  could  scarce  distinguish 
between  the  almost  audible  stillness  of  the  grove 
and  the  low  music  of  the  living  but  unruflBed 
stream.  The  air  was  mild  and  calm.  It  was  a 
night  to  worship  God  in. 

The  hours  passed,  and  the  motionless  form  of 
the  watching  Indian  seemed  to  the  dull  and  clos- 
ing eye  of  the  novice  to  swell  into  gigantic  size, 
and  then  to  shrink  and  fade  away  to  nothingness 
until,  in  the  imperceptible  sinking  of  his  senses 
under  fatigue  and  slumber,  the  beauteous  scene 
around  him  passed  from  before  bis  closed  orbs, 


t 


it  if 


V    - 


TSE  INSTRUCTION. 


88 


i't 


and  his  spirit  began  to  wander  in  the  sunny  fields 
of  his  own  dear  France. 

How  long  he  slept  he  knew  not,  but  he  was  at 
length  aroused  by  the  hand  of  the  Indian  upon 
his  shoulder.  It  was  not  yet  day,  but  every 
preparation  had  already  been  made  to  depart, 
and  the  kindness  of  the  chief  had  permitted  the 
young  man  to  enjoy  unbroken,  until  the  last 
moment,  the  deep  and  refreshing  slumber  which 
had  wrapped  his  senses.  Leaping  up  from  his 
hard  couch,  the  young  novice  performed  his 
morning  devotions,  and,  having  made  his  ablu- 
tion in  the  running  waters,  was  ready  to  take  his 
seat  in  the  canoe  the  moment  it  was  launched. 
Father  Laval  had  resolved  that  Rene  Bourdoise 
and  himself  should  oocujgr  different  canoes  during 
the  rest  of  the  voyage  m  order  that  the  young 
man  might  be  employed  as  well  as  himself  in 
mstructing  the  catechumens,  of  whom,  as  we  have 
already  said,  there  was  a  number  not  yet  fully 
prepared  scattered  throughout  the  fleet.  In  a 
few  moments  the  dark  forms  of  the  canoes  shot 
out  from  the  banks  of  the  river,  keeping  within 
the  verge  of  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  overhang- 

■     ►-    -   -    ^  -   ■    C- 


mmm 


Wt 


84 


THE  INSTRUCTION. 


ing  woods,  and  pursuing  their  course  rapidly 
and  silently  towards  the  new  fort  of  Montreal. 
Ere  the  day  dawned,  they  had  proceeded  many 
miles  upon  their  journey,  when,  striking  deeper 
into  the  current,  the  canoes  drew  out  in  a  more 
extended  line,  and  continued  on  their  course. 


■\ 


i 
t 

t 


\ 


I       '  V 


\ 


p 

4 


CHAPTER  IV. 
NIGHT   UPON  THE    WATERS, 

|EVERAL  days  were  happily  passed  in 
this  manner,  and,  although  the  progress 
of  the  party  had  been  regular,  the  declin- 
ing sun  of  the  fourth  day  found  them  still  distant 
from  the  sheltering  walls  of  Moptreal.  As  they 
were  now  in  the  most  dangerous  portion  of  their  ' 
passage  between  the  two  forts,  it  was  determined 
not  to  land,  but  to  continue  their  voyage  during 
the  night;  the  Indians  relieving  each  other  at 
the  paddle,  and  snatching  a  moment's  repose, 
while  the  canoes  proceeded  slowly,  and  with 
diminished  force,  up  the  river. 

Stretching  themselves  upon  the  bottom  of  the 
canoes.  Father  Laval  and  Rene  Bourdoise  pre- 
pared to  sleep,  having  committed  themselves  to 
the  keeping  of  God.     The  novice  had  already 

85 


i^^ 


86 


NIGHT   UPON  THE    WATERS. 


become  in  a  manner  accustomed  to  the  novelty 
of  his  situation,  and  its  danger  from  familiarity 
began  to  lose  the  terror  which  it  had  at  first 
possessed. 

Sleep  soon  closed  his  eyes,  for  his  heart  was 
pure,  and  he  had  learned  to  look  on  death  too 
long  in  the  stern  training  of  the  Christian  soldier 
to  dread  his  approach,  come  apparelled  as  he 
might. 

Ever  reflecting  upon  life,  the  Jesuit  is  taught 
to  look  to  its  last  end,  to  value  it  as  a  means, 
worthless  in  itself,  priceless  when  laid  dowa  to 
purchase  immortal  bliss.  D'^ath  has  no  pangs 
for  him ;  for  him  it  can  not  sever  any  earthly 
ties;  the  only  tie  that  binds  him  to  this  earth 
leads  through  the  portals  of  the  tomb  to  heaven. 
Those  gates,  to  most  men  so  .dark  and  gloomy, 
are  but  the  triumphal  arch  thrryUgh  which  he 
shall  pass  when  the  victory  over  sin  and  hell  is 
won  for  him.  Constant  meditation  has  cooled 
his  passions,  stemmed  their  rapid  flow,  and 
taught  him  well  the  utter  worthlessness  of 
earthly  pride  and  pleasures  and  possessions. 
He  follows  the  command  of  the  Saviour  to  the 


r  i 


«^ 


» 


-«#  w*- 


t 


t 


t 


NIGHT   UPON  THE    WATERS.       yj 

youth  who  sought  the  rule  of  perfection.  He 
strips  himself  of  earthly  riches.  He  is  ready 
then  to  \q  forth  upon  the  world,  without  staff  or 
scrip  or  raiment,  to  do  God's  work,  prepared  for 
life  or  death,  in  obedience  to  the  will  of  his  divine 
Master. 

Calmly  and  sweetly,  trusting  in  the  loving  care 
of  the  mother  under  whose  powerful  intercession 
he  had  placed  himself,  the  novice  slept  the  sleep 
of  youth.  Soft  tones,  old  and  fond  remembrances, 
kind  voices  and  familiar  names  seemed  once  more 
to  mingle  in  his  slumbering  sense,  with  the  light 
murmur  of  the  rippling  wave  and  the  low  music 
of  the  zephyr  that  fanned  his  cheek.  Dear  faces 
beamed  upon  him.  He  sat  again  beside  the  well- 
worn  and  familiar  hearth,  and  his  gray-haired 
father  smiled  once  more  upon  the  son  he  loved, 
the  son  of  his  old  age  vowed  to  the  service  pf  his 
God.  For  such  was  the  youthful  Rene :  from 
childhood  dedicated  to  the  altar,  breathing  the 
pure  atmosphere:  of  its  unpolluted  precincts,  con- 
scious even  in  his  father's  house  and  in  his  early 
years  of  the  solemn  duty  which  lay  before  him 
for  Ms  future  life.    Sweetly  came  the  recollection 


8     i 


(  « 


88 


NJOHT   Ul'ON  THE   WAFERS. 


,*« 


of  his  childhood's  home,  and  those  dear  old  faces^ 
with  fcheir  beaming  smiles,  melting  from  beneath 
the  frosts  of  years  of  stern  study  and  deep  holy 
meditation  which  had  schooled  his  heart  into 
higher,  nobler  thought,  of  sweeter,  purer  love  •— 
love  to  the  Father  of  all  fathers,  engrossing  and 
suWimatiiig  all  true  love  in  his  young  heart. 
But  now  in  dreams  fondly  retracing  many  a  thou- 
sand league,  and  many  a  toilsome  .year,  the  human 
spirit,  true  to  its  human  nature,  back  to  its  old 
affections  and  its  mortal  ties  went  hurrying — 
but  not  forgetful  of  its  own  heavenly  destiny.  It 
was  pure  happiness,  pure  infantile  joy,  such  as  in 
childhood  he  had  folt — for  now  it  seemed  to  him 
that  once  again  he  was  a  child  —  a  thoughtless, 
gay,  and  cheerful  child  —.without  a  care,  without 
a  fear,  with  no  responsibility  and  with  no  feeling 
but  of  the  present  moment.  The  waters  of  the 
flowing  river  murmured  in  his  ear,  and  fancy 
broke  the  changeless  sound  into  some  sweet  old 
melody  once  sung  to  him  by  fond  maternal  lips. 
The  light  but  quivering  stroke  of  the  bending 
paddle,  swaying  the  fragile  bark,  and  its  soft  and 
gentle  motion  as  it  cut  the  waters^  rocked  him 


NIGHT  UPON  THE   WATERS. 


39 


I, 


sweetly  till  he  lay  like  an  infant  slumbering  on 
its  mother's  breast.  Thus  slept  the  youthful 
novice. 

Father  Lavral  had  more  care  upon  his  nund, 
and  it  was  long  before  he  gave  way  to  the  weari- 
ness that  hung  upon  his  eyelids.  He  felt  that 
the  critical  hour  had  arrived ;  for  if  the  company 
once  reached  Montreal,  and  commenced  to  ascend 
the  Ottawa,  there  was  less  danger  of  being  at- 
tacked by  a  force  more  powerful  than  their  own. 
At  length  he  too  composed  himself  to  slumber, 
confiding  himself  to  the  protection  of  an  all- 
seeing  God* 

As  leader  of  the  party,  Ahasistari,  insensible 
to  fatigue  when  the  safety  of  his  charge  might 
be  at  issue,  watched  all.  night.  To  the  enduring 
nature  of  the  Indian  thip  was  little,  and  his  band 
only  sought  occasional  repose,  in  order  that  a 
portion  might  be  fresh  and  prepared  for  any 
event.  From  the  bow  of  his  canoe,  which  had 
drawn  from  the  Tear  to  the  head  of  the  line,  the 
chief  scanned,  with  keen  and  watchful  eye,  either 
shore  of  the  river  as  they  ascended..  But  all 
nature  slept,  and  it  seemed  as  if  with  nature  even 


^ 


40 


NIOHT   UPON  THE    WATERS. 


the  fell  heart  of  man  was  at  rest.     No  mark  or 
trace  of  an  enemy  met  his  eye ;  for  even  in  the 

s  dim  light  of  the  stars  the  wondrous  sense  of  an 
Indian  warrior  might  detect  the  presence  of  his 
foe,  and  the  slightest  sound,  the  breaking  of  a 
twig  might  be  heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  hour 
over  the  murmuring  waters.  But  all  things  were 
silent,  and  the  chief  began  to  hope  that  perhaps 

^  no  Mohawks  were  out-lying  along  the  river,  and 
that  their  passage  would  be  made  without  diffi- 
culty or  danger.  But  he  did  not  become  less 
wat  aful. 

"^     At  length  the  dark  starlit  canopy  began  to 
lighten  up  faintly  towards  the  east.     Dim  an'l 
almost  imperceptible  was  the  first  precursor  of 
the  dawn,  merely  a  Irsser  darkness.     Thus  it 
passed  foT  many  minutes,  making  the  summits 
^pl    of  the  far  hills  sharper  and  more  distinct,  and 
"shrouding  the  lower  forest  in   deeper    gloom. 
Gradually  the  view  became  more  distinct,  and 
a  quick  eye  might  barely  trace  the  forms  of  na- 
ture.    The  canoes  were  now  approaching  a  nar- 
rower portion  of  the  river,  and  Ahasistari  be- 
^came  more  watchful  than  before.    At  length  his 


I 


1" 


f 


r 


»•- . 


NIGHT    UPON  THE   WATERS, 


41 


^,1m 


». 

i 


t: 


eye  seemed  to  fix  upon  a  portion  of  the  forest 
that  overhung  the  river  above  them  on  their 
route — then  he  raised  it  up  towards  the  sky 
above  the  woods.  The  scrutiny  did  not  seem  to 
satisfy  him,  and,  guiding  the  canoe  from  the 
shore  so  as  to  bring  the  object  more  to  the  light, 
he  watched  it  as  the  barks  moved  on.  The  war- 
riors in  the  rearward  canoes  observed  the  motion, 
but  with  apparent  indifierence  still  urged  on 
their  frail  vessels,  knowing  the  skill  and  cool- 
ness of  their  leader.  In  a  little  while  the  motion 
of  the  canoe  brought  the  top  of  that  portion  of 
the  forest  opposite  a  bright  clear  star,  and  across 
its  face  for  a  single  instant  came  a  dimness  like 
that  caused  by  a  thin,  wiry  column  of  smoke  or 
vapor. 

"  Ugh ! ''  exclaimed  the  chie^,  in  the  deep  gut- 
tural tone  peculiar  to  the  Indian,  and,  with  a 
sudden  motion  of  his  paddle,  he  sent  the  canoe 
whirling  in  towards  the  southern  shore  undej*  the 
shadows  of  the  hills.  Then,  staying  its  progress, 
he  crouched  close  to  diminish  the  risk  of  obser- 
vation by  any  .wandering  eye  that  might  be  upon 
the  shore.     His  example  was  silently  followed, 

4* 


-TT 


^^mm 


42     ^^<^^r  crpo^  ^^^  ^^,^^^^ 

unoccupied     Z?  '  '^*'°°1^  ^^d  seemingt 

«>Wly  and  imlsZ,  '"""'^^^'fl;   the  warrior 
their  chief.  ""^"^'^"^^  ««^a^ted  the  motions  of 

wwtrquTck  :L^urti^*"^  -'"-d  the 

«%ht  sound  struck  unonh"  ^  ""^^  ''^""  * 
Jl^e  snapping  of  a  1:41,^*1"  1^^ ?  "'^ 
tious  tread.     The  8o„n7  ^^*  *"'*  «»»- 

did  not  escape  tSeT  ofT  "7  '''"*'  '^"^  ^* 
foung^t  and  least  TrL^si     li'  T"""-'  *^« 
V  in  the  canoe  of  theTiT^'  ,  ^^'  '^^°^*'  ^^o 
«-iJy  in  his  sleep,  tS^^'  ':!^\*°  *«-  un- 
motion  to  rest,  and  S^,.^  *''"  "'^""g^  fr«m 
louder  in  the  stUln^  o J^  ^^  ''''"^  *°  g*^^   ^ 

«jari  pointed  ^H^,^' t.^f  ^T^  ^'^^ 
missionary,  and  Haukimol,  I  ^®  sleeping 

down  low  over  thTt^od  1.      ''^''^*'' ^'««P^ 
his  ho„^  .       ^0°  father,  and  fffntUr  ■  -j 

Ills  hand  upon  his  shoulder     T.        ^      ^  '*'d 

ther  Laval  opened  his  eye'' wi^J  '  '"rT*  ^^- 
but  the  low  "hist  J »  Ldll^f  ^  '^'^^^  «*^rt, 

Pi^  pressed  upon  C  ^  i'^  °f/^-"- 

r      *uai  lips,  mdistinctljr  visible 


;M 


M 


) 


\ 


11 


NIQHT   UPON  THE    WATERS, 


43 


in  the  gray  light^  immediately  recalled  him  to 
consciousness.  A  single  glance  enabled  him  to 
catch  at  least  a  general  idea  of  the  situation  of 
affairs^  and  raising  his  heart  in  prayer,  he  awaited 
with  resignation  the  end,  whatsoever  it  might  be. 
Similar  was  the  awakening  of  Rene  Bourdoise. 
The  young  novice  had  sooner  fallen  into  a  deep 
and  refreshing  slumber,  and  the  first  checking  of 
the  speed  of  the  canoe  had  startled  him,  and  its 
ceasing  had  aroused  him.  Observing  the  state  of 
preparation  around  him,  his  young  French  blood, 
fiery  yet  in  spite  of  its  long  training  to  suppress 
such  worldly  feeling,  began  to  glow  as  he  thought 
that  the  enemies  of  France  and  foes  of  his  re- 
ligion might  perhaps  be  at  that  moment  lying 
within  reach,  and  that  battle  between  man  and 
*man,  in  which  he  durst  bear  no  part,  might  soon 
take  place  before  his  eyes.  It  was  not  without 
an  efibrt  that  he  succeeded  in  restraining  these 
feelings,  and  giving  himself  up  to  the  weapons 
of  prayer  and  humiliation  of  spirit.  A  young, 
bright,  glowing  heart  had  Rene  Bourdoise.  Wa-^ 
took,  his  pupil,  who  sat  by  his  side,  observed  the 
mental  struggle  of  the  young  ecclesiastic,  and 


.  / 


RV 


44 


NIGHT   UPON  THE   WATERS, 


marked  the  sparkling  of  his  eye,  and  his  heart 
swelled  with  a  deeper  affection  as  he  beheld  the 
subdued  workings  of  the  noble  spirit  within. 

"  Will  the  young  blackgown  share  Watook^s 
weapons?'^  he  said  in  a  low  whisper;  "  Watook 
has  a  keen  and  polished  knife,  and  his  carabine 
is  sure — they  shall  be  his  brother's.  Watook 
will  use  the  weapons  of  his  people.''  As  he 
spoke,  the  generous  young  warrior  drew  the  knife 
from  his  belt,  and  tendered  the  arms  to  the  young 
novice. 

A  deep  blush  suffused  the  fine  face  of  Eene 
Bourdoise.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  what  feel- 
ing most  predominated  in  the  inward  struggle, 
and  sent  the  evidence  of  shame  tingling  to  his 
'eek;  whether  was  it  the  manhood  and  the 
spirit  of  flesh  yet  unsubdued  within  him,  that 
scorned  to  act  like  a  woma:^  when  the.  strife 
should  come,  and  yet  durst  not  receive  the  prof- 
fered weapons  which  must  remain  so  idle  in  his 
hands ;  or  was  it.a  conscious  shame  that  his  de- 
meanor, forgetful  of  the  bearing  of  the  Chiistian 
messenger  of  love  and  faith,  had  awakened  in 
the  heart  of  the  savage  such  thoughts  as  caused 


'       '1 


NIOBT  UPON  TBE  WATERS. 


45. 


i    < 


his  offer,  when  he  should  have  been  preparing 
with  silent  prayer  and  resignation  to  win  his 
martyr's  crown?  He  gazed  upon  the  weapons 
for  a  moment,  but  the  training  of  the  novice 
amidst  silence  and  contemplation,  was  too  strong 
for  the  impulse  of  the  passions,  and  putting  them 
aside,  he  said : 

"  Keep  your  arms,  my  brother  I  They  would 
be  useless  in  my  hands ;  I  know  not  how  to  wield 
them.  I  am  a  man  of  peace.  None  vowed  t^ 
the  service  of  the  altar  may  stain  their  hands  iu 
human  blood,  but  must  submit  to  the  trials  which 
are  given  them.  Oh,  my  Father  I "  he  continued 
mentally,  "  who  deadest  all  hearts,  forgive  the  sin- 
ful thoughts  which  carried  me  away,  and  stirred 
up  the  evil  of  my  nature ; "  and  bowing  down 
his  head,  he  sat  composed  and  motionless,  not 
less  the  wonder  than  the  admiration  of  the  young 
man,  who  saw  that  fear  had  nothing  to  do  with 
conduct,  to  him,  hitherto  little  acquainted  with 
the  missionaries,  so  inexplicable. 

As  the  canoes  swung  in  towards  the  shore,  im- 
pelled by  an  occasional  stroke  of  the  paddle,  the 
current  bore  them  somewhat  lower  down  the 


46 


NIQET   UPON  THE   WATERS 


river.  The  descent  was  evident;  for  the  trees 
upon  the  bank  seemed  slowly  to  pass  by  them,  as 
it  were,  giving  the  appearance  of  rest  to  the 
canoes.  The  Indians  did  not  endeavor  to  keep 
them  on  their  former  course,  but  permitted  them 
to  drop  gently  down  the  stream.  Father  Laval 
kept  his  eye  intently  fixed  upon  the  forest ;  but 
he  found  it  difficult  to  penetrate  the  darkness 
which  shrouded  it.  The  canoes  had  now  reached 
a  point  where  the  underwood  was  not  so  thick  as 
that  above,  and  where  there  was  little  danger  of 
an  ambush.  Ahasistari  again  emitted  a  low  ex- 
clamation, and  pointed  towards  an  open  part  of 
the  forest.  The  eye  of  Father  Laval  followed 
tl^e  direction,  and  up  the  stream,  in  the  rear  of 
the  heavy  .underwood,  he  caught  a  momentary 
glimpse  of  the  dying  embers  of  a  fire.  The  thick 
trunk  of  a  tree  in  the  next  instant  concealed  it 
from  his  sight.  There  was  no  sign  of  life  or 
motion  near  it  or  around  it.  He  again  assumed 
his  place  at  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  from  which 
he  had  raised  himself  to  look  around.  The  eye 
of  the  chief  was  now  turned  upon  the  portion  of 
the  forest  immediately  before  them,  and  he  held 


J 


V 


NIQHT   UPON  THE   WATER^f^      47 

a  consultation  in  low  tones  with  the  old  warrior 
by  his  side. 

"  Haukimah,  the  trail  is  there,"  he  said,  point- 
ing to  a  spot  which  seemed  to  the  Jesuit,  who 
again  raised  his  head  as  the  chief  spoke,  to  pre- 
sent no  marks  by  which  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  banks  above  or  below  it. 

"Yes,  the  Mohawk  has  left  it  broad  —  a  yen- 
geese  might  follow  in  it:  the  Mohawk  is  cun- 
ning  I  ' 

"  He  is  a  wolf,  but  he  leaves  his  trail  like  a  bear," 

The  old  Indian  shook  his  head  doubtingly, 
and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  replied :  ' 

"The  Iroquois  can  hide  his  trail  if  he  will; — 
he  is  strong,  he  has  left  a  broad  trail." 

"  He  is  weak ;  a  fox  making  the  trail  of  many 
wolves  to  frighten  the  hunter !  If  he  were  strong 
he  would  lie  hid  like  the  panther  who  springs  (  n 
the  passing  elk." 

"  He  is  not  waiting  for  his  prey :  he  has  stricken 
it  near  the  wigwams  of  the  pale-face,  and  has 
borne  it  away.  He  is  strong  and  fears  not  pur- 
suit ;  his  fire  is  burning  out ;  he  has  gone ; "  and 
Haukimah  pointed  towards  the  south. 


48 


NIGHT   UPON  THE    WATERS. 


Itdidjiot  seem  improbable  that  the  party  of 
Mohawks  had  passed  on  by  that  route  during  the 
night,  leaving  their  camp-fire  behind  them  unex- 
tinguished, and  their  trail  so  broad  as  to  negative 
the  idea  of  an  ambush  at  that  spot ;  yet  the  chief 
determined  to  reconnoitre  more  closely  before  he 
ventured  to  pass  onwards  in  front  of  the  suspi- 
cious spot,  and  thus  expose  his  party  to  the  cer- 
tainty of  discovery,  and  pursuit. 

The  light  had  already  become  more  distinct, 
and  the  marks  about  which  the  warriors  differed 
became  at  last  visible  to  Father  Laval  himself, 
though,  had  not  his  attention  been  directed  to  the 
spot,  he  could  not  have  discovered  their  existence. 
The  low  bushes  on  the  edge  of  the  water  were 
displaced  and  beaten  down,  though  portions 
seemed  zb  if  carefully  replaced,  while  the  under- 
wood above  on  the  higher  portion  of  the  bank, 
which  e:2ttended  upwards  a  few  feet  from  the  sur- 
face of  the  water,  presented  on  their  lower  branches 
bent  and  broken  boughs  and  torn  leaves,  as  if 
done  by  the  grasp  of  persons  carelessly  ascending. 
The  canoes  still  continued  to  near  the  shore,  and 
were  kept  by  the  occasional  stroke  of  the  paddle 


NlOHf   UPON  THE    WATERS. 


49 


from  descending  farther  down  the  current.  They 
were  now  within  a  very  short  distance  of  the 
bank^  but  it  was  impossible  to  discover  there  the 
least .  evidence  of  life,  or  motion,  and  the  two 
Frenchmen  began  to  comfort  themselves  with 
the  reflection  that  the  Indians  had  departed,  and 
that  nothing  was  to  be  apprehended.  The  Hu*-, 
rons,  however,  were  still  silent  and  watchful, 
cautiously  concealing  as  much  of  their  bodies  ad 
they  could  in  their  canoes.  The  chief  again 
turned,  and  spoke  in  a  low  tone  to  Haukimah. 

"  How  many  does  my  brother  count  upon  the 
sand  ? "  and  he  pointed  to  the  bank  at  the  edge 
of  the  water.  ^ 

The  old  warrior  held  up  three  fingei^. 

"Yes,  there  were  but  three  canoes  of  them," 
said  Ahasistari ;  "  there  is  nothing  to  fear.'' 

Father  Laval  looked  in  wonder  for  indications 
from  which  the  warriors  had  drawn  their  conda* 
^sion,  but  in  vain.  To  the  Indian  they  were  plain 
enough.  It  seemed  that  the  Mohawks,  if  Mo- 
hawks they  were,  had  proceeded  with  an  utter 
dk^^^gard  of  the  usual  precautions  which  Indians, 
especially  in  an  eneiny^s  country,  adopted  to 


y 


60 


NIOHT   UPON   THE    WATERS. 


conceal  their  path.  On  the  sand  the  prints  of 
moccasined  feet  were  stamped  deeply,  but  were 
scarcely  perceptible  in  the  dim  light ;  and  in  three 
places,  close  together,  the  indentures  made  by 
the  bow  of  a  canoe,  carelessly  dragged  from  the 
water,  were  indistinctly  seen.  Whilst  the  two 
chiefs  more  closely  examined  the  shore  to  dis- 
cover if  any  deception  were  practised  upon  them, 
the  canoe  in  which  the  novice  was  placed  shot  up 
towards  them,  and  the  young  Indian  Watook, 
uttering  a  hiss  like  that  of  the  water-snake, — so 
like,  that  Father  Laval  involuntarily  started  with 
disgust  at  the  seeming  proximity  of  the  imaginary 
reptile, — exclaimed,  "  The  Mohawk ! " 

Every  eye  followed  the  direction  of  his  ex- 
tended hand,  and  at  the  moment  a  dusky  form 
was  seen  darting  rapidly  from  one  tree  to  another, 
lower  down  and  nearer  the  canoes.  An  instant 
after  a  wild  yell  broke  from  the  forest ;  the  flash 
of  rifles  lit  up  its  dark  shaojes  and  gleamed  upon 
the  waters ;  a  cloud  of  arrows  rattled  down  upon 
them,  and  half  stifled  groans  arose  from  the 
canoes.  Every  shot  came  from  above,  none  as 
yet  from  the  forest  in  front  or  below  the  Canoes. 


y. 


I.'. 


Si 


i 


I 


^ 


•  . 


I  - 


.1 


I 


■3( 


NIGHT    UPON  THE    WATERS, 


61 


N</ne  was  returned.  Covered  with  dense  smoke, 
and  concealed  in  their  coverts,  the  unseen  foe 
would  have  suffered  little  from  the  fire  of  the 
canoes  had  they  returned  it.  The  moment  that 
the  yell  broke  out.  Father  Laval  felt  the  light 
boat  spring  suddenly  in  the  water,  impelled  by 
the  powerful  arms  of  the  Hurons,  who  sternly 
and  silently  bent  to  their  paddles^  hoping  to 
reach  a  cover,  and  make  successful  defence. 
The  discovery,  the  war-cry,  and  the  rattling 
volley  followed  eacL  other  almost  instantaneous- 
ly ;  but  the  impulse  to  the  light  barks  had  been 
so  quick  and  strong  that,  ere  the  volley  pealed, 
they  had  cleared  half  the  space  towards  the  shore.  ^ 
It  was  a  fortunate  movement;  the  rapidity  of 
their  progress  had  rendered  the  aim  of  their 
ambushed  foes  uncertain,  with  the  clumsy  and 
unsure  weapons  with  which  the  Dutch  of  New 
York  scantily  furnished  them  in  their  trade. 
But  the  speed  of  the  canoe  began  to  relax, 
broken  paddles  floated  in  the  water,  and  the 
Indians  who  had  borne  them  crouched  low, 
grasping  their  arms,  and  watching  intently  for 
some  object,  head,  leg,  or  arm,  to  aim  at.     Tha 


JiJL^,^. 


52 


NIOHT   UPON   THE    WATERS. 


Jesuit  felt  the  water  slowly  rising  around  Uis 
feet — the  canoe  was  riddled,  and  was  filling  fast. 
Little  better  was  the  fate  of  the  rest.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  foe  had  aimed  prinoi pally  at  the  canoee^ 
as  if  to  prevent  escape,  -ind,  had-ali  their  shots 
taken  effect,  they  must  have  sunk  at  orice. 

It  was  a  moment  of  intense  anxiety, — death 
from  the  ambush,  death  from  the  wave,  was 
before  them  and  around.  It  was  doubtful 
whether  they  could  reach  the  shore.  In  the 
midst  of  danger  there  was  one  thought  more 
painful  to  the  Jesuit  than  the  thought  of  death. 
There  were  those  around  him  who  had  Hiot  yet 
been  baptized,  and  with  agony  he  reflected  that 
each  pealing  shot,  each  hissing  shaft,  might  send 
one  'of  these  unfortunate  children  of  the  forest, 
unwashed  from  the  dark  stain  of  sin,  to  the 
presence  of  his  God.  The  shot  that  every 
instant  whistled  around  him  had  no  terrors  for 
him :  the  deep  responsibility  of  human  souls  was 
upon  him. 

The  old  warrior  Haukimah  sat  motionless 
before  him.  His  head  was  rested  on  his  hand, 
his  rifle  lay  across  his  knee — he  looked  steadily 


•    ( 


1 


\ 


V 


I 


\ 


I     r 


UIOHT   UPON   THE    WATERS. 


53 


in  the  face  of  the  priest,  and  marked  with  deep 
concern  the  pain  which  shot  across  his  features. 
The  hunting-shirt  of  the  warrior  was  dripping 
with  blood,  yet  no  sign  of  pain  escaped  him,  but 
a  wistful  glance  lingered  upon  his  face  as  he  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  the  countenance  of  the  Jesuit. 

"  You  are  wounded  ?  "  said  Father  Laval. 

The  Indian  slowly  and  somewhat  painfully 
bowed  his  head. 

"And  seriously — it  is  near  your  heart!"  con- 
tinued the  priest, 

"  Haukimah's  last  fight  is  fought,"  replied  the 
Indian  patiently :  "  he  will  go  to  the  spirit-land." 

"And,  alas !  you  have  not  yet  been  baptized." 

"  Lhave  sought  it— I  wait ! " 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  delayed  that  you  might  be 
further  instructed :  you  have  been  instructed — it 
can  be  delayed  no  longer," 

A  faint  smile  of  joy  passed  over  the  stern  fea- 
tures of  the  wounded  man,  and  their  look  of  fixed 
determination  relaxed  into  a  softer  expression. 

"  It  is  good,"  he  said,  quietly. 

-  J^  Do  you  repent  for  all  your  offences  against 

the  good  Spirit?" 
5* 


64 


NIOHT   VPON  THE  WATERS. 


"  I  have  ever  loved  hira ;  if  I  have  offended^  1 
am  sorry,"  he  rfaid  faintly. 

There  was  no  space  for  further  questioning, 
and  the  good  priest  arose,  his  large  forn-  present- 
ing a  fair  mark  to  the  foe ;  heedless  of  danger,  he 
stooped  and  filled  his  hand  with  water  from  the 
river,  and  pouring  it  upon  the  upraised  forehead 
of  the  warrior,  pronounced  the  holy  and  mystic 
words  of  the  sacrament.  *  The  eye  of  the  dying 
Indian  again  lit  up — a  joyous  smile  passed  once 
more  across  his  features;  his  lips,  motionless 
before,  opened,  and  faint,  indistinct  words  of 
prayer  escaped  them.  Then  a  gushing  sound 
was  heard ;  his  hand  moved  wanderingly  towards 
the  wound -^  the  blood  was  bursting  from  it  in  a 
dark  and  bubbling  stream.  His  head  sank  upon 
his  breast,  and  the  spirit  of  the  "regenerated'* 
had  taken  its  flight. 

"May  he  rest  in  peace,"  mentally  ejaculated 
Father  Jean  Laval  as  he  cast  his  eye  once  more 
upon  the  scene  around.  It  had  now  become 
terrific.  The  fragile  bark  was  sinking  beneath 
them ;  escape  by  the  river  was  impossible :  escape 
by  the  shore  seemed  already  doubtful.   The  brave 


^.' 


t 


' 


1 


1 


i       ^10 HT   UPON   TUE   WATERS. 


55 


Hurons,  taken  at  disadvantage,  were  unable  to 
display  their  accustomed  valor.  At  a  signal  from 
the  chief,  two  warriors  sprang  from  the  canoe,  and 
thus  lightened  and  buoyed  up  the  sinking  bark, 
at  the  same  moment,  almost,  a  few  strokes  sent 
it  within  fording  of  the  land.  Every  man  made 
for  the  shore,  grasping  his  rifle  in  his  left  hand, 
while  his  right  brandished  his  tomahawk.  Aha- 
sistari  bounded  to  the  beach.  Bidding  Father 
Jean  Laval  to  follow  him,  it  was  but  a  moment's 
work  to  reach  a  cover  in  the  woods.  He  was 
seconded  by  a  number  of  his  braves,  and  ere  the 
last  canoe  had  touched  the  shore,  the  sharp  crack 
of  the  Huron  ^  a  bines  was  hean^  ii  the  flank 
of  the  Iroquois.  As  suddenly  the  firing  ceased. 
The  Iroquois,  surprised  by  the  anexpected  a(  tiv- 
ity  of  the  Huron  movement,  clun^  close  to  their 
coverts,  and  for  a  time  a  fearful  and  unbroken 
silence  hung  upon  the  scene  of  f'oath. 

Upon  the  shore,  by  the  side  A  a  dying  Indian, 
knelt  Father  Jean  Laval.  The  cross  of  Christ 
was  in  his  hands,  and'  the  eyes  of  the  departing 
rested  on  it.  Words  of  holy  comfort  flowed  from 
his  lip3 ;  the  solemn  absolution  was  pronounced, 


66 


KIOHT   UPON  THE   WATERS, 


and,  anointed  and  aneled,  the  spirit  of  the  Chris- 
tian warrior  took  its  flight,  in  the  midst  of  the 
stern  silence  that  momentarily  reigned  arounc 
that  scene  of  strife,  to  regions  where  neither  bat- 
tle nor  death  can  come.  As  the  last  convulsive 
throb  of  dying  ageny  ceased,  and  the  muscular 
limbs  of  the  w^arrior  fell  back  motionless  from 
the  death-struggle,  the  priest  arose  from  his  pos- 
ture by  the  side  of  the  lifeless  body.  "Have 
mercy  on  him,  O  Lord  ! "  he  said  in  a  low,  sad 
voice,  and  turned  away  towards  the  forest. 


!    J 


♦  ? 


■/  ■' 


*  f 


I 


'8  ^ 


CHAPTERS, 


THE    CONFLICT. 


IILENCE  and  darkness  on  the   scene! 

Not  a  movement  in  the  forest — not  a 

ray  of  light,  save  the  dim  gray  of  the 

far-off  sky — no  sound  but  the  half  hushed' moan 

of  pain,  jarring  sadly  with  the  soft  music  of 

flowing  waters.     It  was  a  living  solitude.     No 

voices  were  heard  where  there  were  many  ready 

to  break  forth  in  fury ;  and  where  there  were 

many  glowing  with  the  flame  of  human  passion, 

no  forms  were  seen  but  one.    That  form  enclosed 

a  gentle  spirit. 

•    The  Jesuit  strode  towards  the  forest. 

Gloom  was  upon  his  path,  but  an  invincible 

tranquillity  reigned  within  his  breast.     Over  the 

stillness,  more  startling  by  its  sudden  contrast 

with  the  wild  peal  of  battle  which  had  ceased  so 

57 


iti- 


mk 


58 


THE  CONFLICT, 


suddenly;  came  now  and  then  the  nistling  of 
leaveS;  as  the  ambushed  foes  fell  guardedly  back^ 
assuming  new  positions,  and  manoeuvring  with 
the  cautiousness  of  Indian  warfare.  It  was  at 
the  mingling  of  night  and  morning,  and  the 
&ding  stars  looked  sadly  down  their  partings  as 
it  were,  into  the  soul  of  the  dark  river. 

The  priest  pressed  on,  heedless  or  unconscious 
of  the  danger  that  lurked  within  the  forest.  He 
gained  the  opening  of  a  slight  ravine;  as  he 
stepped  forward,  ail  obstacle  caught  his  foot,  and 
he  fell  to  the  earth.  Putting  out  his  hand  to 
raise  himself,  it  rested  upon  a  cap — he  held  it 
up  to  examine  it — it  was  the  cap  of  Bene  the 
novice.  A  shudder  passed  through  his  frame — 
there  was  a  murmur  of  sorrow  and  prayer,  a 
sinking  of  the  heart — ^but  he  still  passed  on.  A 
few  feet  further  lay  a  wounded  Huron.  A  low 
sigh  escaped  the  lips  of  the  warrior,  and  he 
endeavored  to  turn  himself  upon  the  ground, 
but  in  vain.  The  Jesuit  bent  over  the  Indian, 
and,  in  a  low  whisper,  asked  him :  **  Son,  hast 
thou  been  baptized?" 

"  No,  my  father  I ''  he  said,  in  a  faint  and  weakv 
voice.  ;  ' 


\ 


I 


1 


THE  CONFLICT. 


69 


\ 


1  ;. 


The  place  they  occupiejd  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ravine  was  somewhat  covered  from  the  position 
of  the  Iroquois.  There  was  yet  time  for  Father 
Laval  to  seek  cover  in  the  rear  of  his  Hurons, 
and  perhaps  escape  would  have  been  possible; 
for  the  Iroquois  were  now  busily  occupied  in 
slowly  and  cautiously  extending  their  forces  in' 
order  to  outflank,  and  thus  drive  the  Christian 
warriors  from  their  covers.  So  guarded  had  been 
the  movements  of  both  parties,  and  such  the 
gloom,  that,  as  yet,  neither  Huron  nor  Iroquois 
had  gained  an  opportunity  of  firing  with  any, 
certainty  of  aim,  and  both  were  too  wary  to 
throw  away  a  shot,  and,  at  the  same  time,  dis- 
cover their  whole  manoeuvre  to  the  foe  by  the 
flash  of  their  fire-arms. 

Father  Laval  arose  and  crept  lightly  towards 
the  river.  As  he  passed  by  a  little  hillock  or 
mound,  he  was  startled  by  the  cracking  of  a  twig 
and  a  low  hiss  like  that  of  a  serpent.  Hesitating 
a  moment,  he  recollected  the  sound  he  had  heard  , 
in  the  canoe,  and,  reassured,  fixed  his  eye  upon 
the  spot  until  he  distinguished  a  dark  object 
moving  towards  him,  and  slowly  erecting  its 


60 


TME   CONFLICT. 


head  from  the  ground  as  it  approached.     In  a 
moment  more  Ahasfetari  was  at  his  feet,  and  in 
a  low  voice  addressed  him : 
^:/*lFather,  hasten;  there  is  yet  time  to  flee  I 
Follow  meP' 

"I  can  not,"  said  the  Jesuit;  "there  are  souls 
to  be  saved ^ — the  dying  to  be  baptized!  Flee 
3%u,  and  save  yourself! " 

"No,  Ahasistari.  will  not  flee  without  his 
father,''  said  the  Indian,  drawing  himself  up 
proudly  from  the  ground, 

"Go,  chief;  you  have  your  duties,  I  have 
mine ;  the  brave  man  does  his  duty,  and  leaves 
the  rest  to  God.  Go  you  to  yours — leave  me 
to  mine."  - 

"  You  will  not  follow  me  ?  " 

"  I  dare  not ; "  and  the  Jesuit  pointed  back  to 
the  spot  where  he  had  left  the  wounded  Indian. 
The  chieftain  turned  his  eye  towards  it. 

"  It  is  not  far  from  the  end  of  their  line !  You 
will  do  your  duty.  Ahasistari  ,will  do  his  by 
your  side — ,  Hist!"  he  said,  suddenly  inter- 
rupting himself,  and  raising  his  finger  to  demand 
silence.     Father  Laval    listened    intently,  and 


Hi 


I 


I   .  ti. ..» 


J,. 


n 


\ 


♦  • 


TffE   CONFLICT. 


61 


discovered  the  light  trampling  of  moccasined 
feet ;  then  the  low  cry  of  an  owl  struck  upon  his 
ear,  and  again  all  was  silent. 

"They  are  gathering  for  a  charge/*  said  ihe 
chieftain.  "Ahasistari  must  be  there  to  meet 
them.  When  you  hear  the  war-cry  of  the 
Hurons,  know  that  your  children  are  fighting 
to  save  you.  Hasten  along  down  the  shore  and 
seek  a  hiding-place."  The  chief  stretched  him- 
self upon  the  ground,  and  was  soon  lost  in  thei 
obscurity  which  still  pervaded  the  scene. 

"With  a  rapid  step  the  Jesuit  turned  towards 
the  river,  lifting  up  his  heart  to  God,  as  he  went 
along,  for  assistance  in  this  trial.  To  fill  his  cap 
with  water,  and  retrace  his  steps  to  the  side  of 
the  wounded  Indian,  was  but  the  work  of  a 
moment.  The  eyes  of  the  warrior  fastened  upon 
the  cooling  liquid  that  oozed  from  the  cap ;  and 
with  a  supplicating  look,  he  laid  his  finger  upon 
his  parched  and  feverish  lip,  and  uttered  the 
single  word  "water."  The  Jesuit  raised  his 
head  upon  his  arm,  and  applied  the  cooling 
draught  to  the  suflFerer's  mouth.  A  grateful 
expression  passed  across  his  countenaiic8„  and 

-6     ■ 


I  _ 


ll 


:' 


62 


TWW  CONFLICT. 


Fatner  Jean  laid  his  head  once  more  upon  the 
turf;  jind,  having  uttered  a  prayer,  stretched 
forth  his  hand,  about  to  pour  upon  his  head  the 
regenerating  waters  of  baptism.  At  that  moment 
a  heavy  grasp  was  laid  ^  upon  his  bared  head, 
which  was  drawn  backwards  till  his  uplifted 
gaze  rested  upon  the  fierce  countenance  of  an 
Iroquois,  whose  right  hand  brandished  above  him 
a  scalping-knife  already  dripping  with  blood.  A 
fiendish  smile. played  upon  the  features  of  the 
savage  as  he  paused  to  contemplate  his  work. 
There  was  time! — A  moment!  oh,  inestimable 
moment!  worlds  could  not  purchase  thy  value.. 
There  was  time.  The  baptismal  water  laved 
gently  the  brow  of  the  dying,  and  the  words  of 
the  sacrament  arose — "OGod !  I  thank  thee — " 
exclaimed  the  Jesuit ;  and  the  knife  of  the  savage 
began  to  descend.  A  single  shot  pealed  suddenly 
upon  the  silence. 

Ahasistari,  the  fearless  chief  of  the  Hurons, 
had  crept  back  swiftly  to  the  position  of  his 
warriors,  and  prepared  to  meet  the  expected 
onslaught  of  the  Mohawks.  With  the  quick 
and  ready  skill  of  the  Indian,  he  determined  to 


■V 


\ 


\ 


t 


THE   CONFLICT. 


68 


% 


\ 


entrap  the  foe  when  the  assault  should  begin,  and 
had  already  placed  himself,  with  a  few  chosen 
men,  stealthily  in  advance,  in  a  nearer  and  more 
favorable  position,  when  his  eye,  wandering  un- 
easily in  search  of  the  Jesuit,  rested  upon  the 
spot  where  he  had  left  him.  Dimly  it  caught 
the  form  of  the  priest,  bent  back  by  the  strong 
grasp  of  the  savage,  and  the  uplifted  knife  sus- 
pended. He  sprang  forward.  To  fire  was  to 
disclose  his  stratagem  to  the  foe ;  to  desist  would 
be  death  to  the  priest.  He  sternly  swung  his 
carbine  into  rest — his  sinewy  hands  grasped  it 
as  firmly  as  if  the  muscles  had  been  steel.  Thus 
it  rested  for  a  moment,  motionless ;  then  came  the 
clicking  of  the  trigger,  and  a  cloud  of  smoke,  with 
a  sheet  of  flame  from  the  muzzle,  swept  over  his 
still  form.  The  blow  of  the  Iroquois  descended : 
but  it  was  the  harmless  falling  of  the  lifeless 
arm — the  bullet  of  the  Huron  had  passed 
through  his  heart.  He  fell  forward  heavily 
upon  the  priest. 

Out  broke  the  fierce  war-whoop  of  the  Mo- 
hawks— shots  pealed  and  arrows  flew.  Then 
came  the  wild  rush,  the  tra^mpling  of  many  feet 


wm 


64 


THJS   CONFLICT. 


\ 


bursting  through  the  forest  covers,  and  the  claftb 
of  many  weapons.  Hand  to  hand,  Mohawk  and 
Huron  fought.  The  occasional  flash  of  fire-arm» 
blazed  around,  lighting  up  the  scene  with  it« 
lurid  rays,  which  glanced  upon  the  plume  of  the 
warrior  as  he  sprung  forward  to  the  charge  and 
sparkled  upon  his  uplifted  weapons,  made  the 
waving  forest-spray  glow  as  if  touched  with 
liquid  fire,  and  danced  madly  along  the  rippling 
waters  of  the  dark  river.  Over  the  wild  music 
of  battle,  which  man  in  his  strength  and  passion 
loves,  came  subdued  the  sorrowful  moaning  of 
the  wounded. 

A  few  rapid  bounds  brought  the  Huron  chief, 
to  the  side  of  the  priest.  Raising  him  up  gently, 
he  said,  when  he  saw  him  recovered  from  the 
effects  of  the  incident:  \ 

"Father,  go  now!  Far  down  the  bank  of 
the  river  you  will  find  the  undergrowth  thick 
and  heavy — keep  by  the  edge  of  the  water.  We 
,are  outnumbered ;  our  only  hope  is  in  flight. 
The  Hurons  will  remain  while  you  remain. 
When  you  have  fled,  we  also  will  seek  safety.^' 

"Then  I  must  go  I"  said  the  Jesuit,  and  gai^h- 


■ii 


~  I 


THE   CONFLICT. 


65 


ering  up  around  him  the  long  black  gown  which 
he  wore,  he  prepared  to  flee  from  the  spot. 

Ahasistari  stooped  down  and  grasped  the  scalp- 
lock  of  his  foe,  and  was  about  to  pass  his  knife 
around  the  skin  to  tear  it  from  his  head.  His 
hand  was  arrested  by  the  priest :  — 

"  Do  not  violate  the  dead,  my  son  I " 

"  He  is  a  Mohawk,  my  father ! " 

"  He  is  a  man — you  have  killed  him  in  battle 
—  do  not  mutilate  his  body.  It  is  not  Chris- 
tian.'' 

The  warrior  raised  himself  from  the  body  of 
his  foe,  and  reverently  made  the  sign  of  the  cross 
upon  his  forehead ;  then,  pointing  the  way  to  the 
Jesuit,  bounded  back  to  his  first  position  amid  a 
shower  of  balls  and  arrows  that  whistled  around 
him  as  he  emerged  from  the  ravine.  Looking 
back,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the -form  of  the 
Jesuit  hurrying  down  the  path  he  had  desig- 
nated. In  the  next  moment  the  Huron  chief 
was  in  the  thickest  of  the  conflict. 

Grathering  new  spirit  from  th€  presence  of 
their  leader,  the  Christian  warriors  still  made 
good  their  position  against  the  foe;  but  it  was 


6* 


jbi    t4^' 


^ 


>*"^ 


66 


THE   CONFLICT. 


evident  that  the  struggle  could  not  be  long 
protracted.  Yet  each  moment  gained  served  to 
increase  the  distance  between  the  Iroquois  and 
their  father  of  the  black  gown.  At  length  the 
thinned  numbers  of  his  warriors  gave  notice  to 
the  chief  that  retreat  could  not  longer  be  delayed. 
At  the  signal,  the  Hurons  sprung  back  from  tree 
^  to  tree,  securing  cover  as  they  retired,  and,  bat- 
tling thus  each  foot  of  ground,  they  made  the 
advance  of  the  Mohawks  slow  and  cautious. 
.  Ahasistari  approached  a  well-tried  warrior  and 
whispered  a  command  in  his  ear,  —  the  Indian 
hurried  to  the  rear  and  turned  towards  the  river. 
A  moment  after,  a  little  below  the  landing,  along 
the  shore  where  the  rippling  waves  broke  in  a 
line  of  light  upon  the  sands,  a  dark  form  seemed 
to  rest  for  a  moment  prostrate  upon  the  grass,  * 
then  with  a  quiet  motion  rolled  slowly  down  the 
slope  to  the  river's  bank,  and,  without  a  single 
splash,  disappeared  beneath  the  water's  edge. 
An  upturned  canoe  was  floating  by  the  spot : 
imperceptibly  its  motion  appeared  to  quicken, 
and  when  it  had  gained  some  distance  from  the 
fihore,  it  was  suddenly  righted  and  an  Indian 


,. 


,••;  » 


\  V 


THE  CONFLICT. 


m 


-  t. 


1: 


■\ 


carefully  crept  over  the  side.  A  yell  broke  from 
the  forest  proving  that  he  was  discovered,  and  a 
few  shots  whistled  around  him;  but  seizing  a 
paddle,  which  had  been  fastened  in  the  canoe,  he 
whirled  it  in  defiance  at  the  foe,  and  then  urged 
his  bark  down  the  river* 

At  length  time  enough  had  elapsed  for  Father 
Laval  to  gather  a  sufficient  start,  and  his  Hurons 
betook  themselves  td  flight,  having  selected  the 
spot  opposite  their  last  bivouac  as  the  final  place 
of  rendezvous  for  those  who  might  escape.  The 
main  band  shaped  their  course  somewhat  from 
the  river,  while  Ahasistari,  accompanied  by  a 
single  warrior,  hastened  to  the  spot  to  which  he 
had  directed  the  Jesuit  to  proceed. 

Father  Laval  had  turned  away  from  the  scene 
of  strife,  and  was  hurryihg  down  the  shore  when 
he  heard  the  groan  of  a  wounded  Indian  whose 
strength  had  failed  him  as  he  crept  towards  the 
river-bank.  He  paused.  How  could  he  flee? 
How  leave  behind  him  so  many  souls*  to  whom  * 
his  ministry  was  necessary  ?  He  turned  froni  his  * 
path ;  he  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  Huron,  and  left 
him  not  till  the  shout  of  the  pursuers,  driving 


Wf^^rmm 


■  k    ■. 


68 


THE    CONFLICT, 


deeper  into  the  forest,  became  faint  upon  his  ear. 
At  length  he  arose,  and  heedless  of  the  words  of 
the  chief,  retraced  his  steps  to  the  now  silent 
scene  of  battle.  Many  a  time  he  knelt  and 
shrived  the  dying  Christian  warrior,  or  baptized 
the  departing  neophyte,  and  uttered  words  of 
hope  to  the  wild  savage.  Kindly  and  gently, 
and  with  almost  a  woman's  touch,  he  laved  the 
parched  lips  arid  throbbing  brow  of  the  wounded^ 
and  soothed  their  pains.  Absorbed  in  this  work 
of  holy  love,  he  heard  not  the  approaching  steps 
of  a  form  that  soon  gained  his  side. 

"Oh,  my  father,  I  came  to  seek  thy  body— 
and,  joy,  I  find  thee  safe  I " 

"  Ah !  Rene,  my  son  I  heaven  bless  thee,"  said 
the  Jesuit  as  he  gazed  aftectionately  upon  the 
youth.  "I  believed  thee  dead  —  see,  I  found 
thy  cap  upon  the  field.     I  mourned  for  thee,  my 


i}on. 


ji 


"  Yes,  I  lost  it  in  my  rapid  flight.  The  young 
Indian  Watook  hurried  ine  to  the  shore,  and  led 
me  to  the  rear.  There  in  safety,  I  watched  the 
progress  of  the  fight,  until  it  became  necessary 
for  me  to- flee  deeper  into  the  woods.    Making  a 


f 
I 


i.:!:: 


f   ^' 


^* 


!| 


THE   CONFLICT, 


69 


. 


\ 


\i 


detour  as  the  foe  went  off  in  pursuit,  I  came  hither 
to  seek  thee."  , 

"It  is  well :  we  will  die  together,  comforting 
each  other." 

"  If  it  be  the  will  of  Providence,  my  father." 
And  the  Jesuit  and  the  novice  betook  themselves 
to  their  office  of  love. 

A  young  Iroquois  warrior,  wounded  severely 
but  not  fatally,  had  fainted  from  loss  of  blood. 
He  now  began  to  revive;  and  an  involuntary 
groan  broke  from  his  lips.  Rene  Bourdoise 
raised  his  head  from  the  ground,  whilst  the 
Jesuit  endeavored  to  stanch  the  wound.  The 
effusion  had  been  great,  and  if  it  continued 
longer  would  prove  fatal.  No  mean  surgiion  was 
Father  Jean,  and  he  worked  with  a  charitable 
heart.  Whilst  the  two  Frenchmen  were  thus 
engaged,  the  loud  shouts  of  the  returning  Mo- 
hawks broke  upon  their  ears.  The  savages  had 
observed  the  escape  of  the  Huron  in  the  canoe, 
and,  fearing  that  succor  might  be  near,  dared  not 
protract  the  pursuit  too  long.  Redoubled  yells 
of  joy  came  forth  as  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
two  most  highly  prized  of  their  foes,  whose  escape 


-  rvwvMM^M 


it 


70 


THE  CONFLICT. 


they  had  feared.  Bounding  forward,  two  war- 
riors  were  about  to  grapple  with  them;  they 
came  with  uplifted  arms,  but  the  Jesuits,  un^ 
moved,  continued  to  perform  their  charitable 
labors.  Father  Jean  had  just  succeeded  in 
stanching  the  flow  "of  blood,  and  was  smooth- 
ing down  the  bandage  that  compressed  the 
wound ;  Rene  Bourdoise  laved  the  brow  of  the 
Iroquois. 

The  two  warriors  steod  still,  astonished,  and 
then,  uttering  the  deep,  low  guttural  exclamation 
peculiar  to  their  race,  their  only  expression  of 
surprise,  dropped  their  arms,  and,  turniiig,  gazed 
on  one  another  in  unminejled  wonder.  They 
were  soon' jpin^  by  their  companions,  who  gath- 
ered  near  by  this  scene  so  new  to  them,  and  the 
same  low  exclamation  ran  around  the  group. 
In  sooth  it  was  an  unwonted  contrast:  man  the 
fiend,  and  man  the  angel; — the  warrior,  red  with 
blood,  smoking  with  slaughter;  and  the  priest, 
calm  and  passionless,  breathing  peace  and  charity 
to  all  men,  binding  up  the  wounds  of  his  enemy. 
Father  Jean  arose,  with  his  arms  crossed  upon 
his  breast,  bis  benign  features  glowing  with  a 


'  ^ 


I 


THE  CONFLICT, 


71 


holy  enthusiasm.  The  priest  and.  the  savage 
stood  face  to  face.  The  dark  flashing  .orb  of  the 
warrior  slowly  yielded  to  the  softening  influence 
of  the  mild  and  gentle  eye  of  the  Jesuit ;  sud- 
denly he  turned  away  his  glance  and  approached 
the  wounded  man,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
brow,  as  if  to  discover  that  there  was  no  decep- 
tion. Then  he  coldly  watched  the  face  of  the 
sufferer.  The  novice  still  supported  his  head, 
and  laved  his  brow  and  lijps.  In  a  moment 
more  the  wounded  man  opened  his  eyes,  and  a 
faint  smile  played  across  his  features. 

"Good,  Kiskepilal^'  muttered  the  Mohawk 
chief,  and  turned  awaf 

Father  Jean  had  now  cime  to  look  about  him, 
for  he  was  left  unmolested.  The  Mohawks  had 
made  several  prisoners  in  the  pursuit,  whom,  six 
in  number,  some  of  the  conquerors  had  just 
dragged  up,  bound  tightly  and  securely.  In  an 
hour  more  the  last  straggling  pursuer  had  re- 
turned, the  dying  Hurons  had  been  scalped  and 
tomahawked,  the  bodies  of  the  fallen  Iroquois 
buried,  and  the  conquerors  and  their  prisoners, 
marching  in  single  file  and  with  a  party  in  ad- 


72 


TffE  CONFLICT. 


vance,  bearing  their  wounded  upon  litters  made 
of  boughs,  left  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrencp 
where  they  had  concealed  their  canoes,  and 
struck  ofiF  deep  into  the  forest,  towards  the  Mo- 
hawk villages. 


\ 


i 


t  -  ■ 


f 


A 


CHAPTER    VL 


THE  MORN. 


|HE  sun  came  up  over  the  eastern  hills, 
brightly  and  beautifully,  not  a  cloud 
across  his  path.  His  first  slanting 
beams  fell  upon  the  form  of  a  tall  warrior, 
stealing  his  way  down  the  banks  of  the  St. 
Lawrence ;  a  short  distance  behind  came  another, 
cautiously  covering  and  concealing  every  foot- 
step as  he  passed,  while  to  the  south,  deep  in  the 
forest,  might  be  heard  the  sounds  of  conflict  and 
pursuit.  Rapidly  they  hurried  on,  yet  carefully, 
until  at  length  the  underwood  became  thick  and 
heavy,  and  difficult  to  penetrate,  and  the  ground 
soft  and  swampy.  Then,  emerging  from  the 
wood,  they  kept  along  by  the  edge  of  the  water, 
searching  closely  for  the  marks  of  footsteps  upon 

the  sand  or  clay.     The  examination  was  in  vain. 
7  78 


^^ 


iBi« 


74 


THE  MORN. 


For  a  moment  the  tall  warriot  looked  about  in 
doubt;  then,  renewing  the  scrutiny,  proceeded 
down  the  river.  But  he  met  with  no  better 
success.  An  unusual  expression  of  pain  passed 
across  his  features,  aad,  resting  the  butt  of  his 
gun  upon  the  ground,  he  leaned  upon  it  in 
thought.  His  dress  was  torn  and  bloody,  and 
the  marks  of  many  wounds  were  upon  him. 
The  sun  played  brightly  across  the  face  of 
Ahasistari,  but  his  spirit  was  dark  and  sad.  He 
had  found  no  trace  of  Father  Laval.  His  solemn 
vow  was  in  his  memory. 

At  length  twice  he  whistled,  low,  but  pierc- 
ingly ;  at  the  second  time  a  rustling  y/as  heard  a 
short  distance  down  the  bank  where  the  bushes 
overhung  the  water,  and  lifting  carefully  aside 
the  leafy  branches,  a  Huron  appeared,  urging  his 
canoe  from  his  hiding-place.  A  few  strokes  sent 
the  light  bark  to  the  feet  of  Ahasistari,  and  the 
rower  stood  beside  him.  The  three  Indians 
spoke  together  for  a  moment,  and  then  sat  down 
silently  upon  the  shore.  A  slight  noise  startled 
them,  and  Ahasistari  exclain^ed,  ^^He  comes!'' 
In  a  moment  more  a  step  was  heard  upon  the 


4 


/^ 


Lff. 


TEE  MORN, 


76 


^ 


y 


sand)  and  Watook,  soiled  and  stained  with  the 
marks  of  battle,  stood  before  them.  He  looked 
Ahasistari  in  the  face,  and  then  his  head  sunk 
down  upon  his  breast  in  silence.  The  chief 
addressed  him : 

^' Speak,  Huron ! "  ^ 

Baising  his  hand  towards  the  south,  while  his 
eyes  glowed  like  burning  coals,  the  young  brave 
exclaimed:  "The  Hawk  carries  off  the  dove; 
the  Mohawks  lead  away  the  father  of  thie  black 
gown  and  the  young  Frenchman  to  their  villages, 
to  the  torture :  and  Watook  " — and  his  strained 
arms  pressed  tightly  against  his  bosom,  as  if 
to  keep  down  its  inward  struggle— "Watook 
looked  upon  it." 

Ahasistari  sat  motionless  for  a  moment,  then 
looked  fixedly  at  the  young  Indian,  his  eye  seem^ 
ing  to  pierce  into  the  depths  of  his.  soul.  Not  a 
muscle  moved ;  not  a  nerve  quivered ;  but  there 
was  a  sorrowful  sternness  in  his  glance.  Then 
he  gazed  around  upon  the  group  of  Hurons : 

"How  many  Iroquois?  The  days  are  many 
before  the  villages  can  be  reached — and  night 
and  day— '^  and  he  grasped  his  knife  expriess- 


wm 


76 


TffJB  MORN, 


ively.  A  deep  exclamation  of  approval  broke 
from  his  two  companions.  Watook  replied  not, 
but  pointed  to  the  sands  of  the  shore,  and  then 
to  the  leaves  of  the  forest. 

"  It  is  useless,"  said  the  chief,  and  sunk  again 
into  silence.  At  length,  raising  himself  up  to  his 
full  height,  he  said :  "  I  have  sworn,  my  brothers  I 
you  are  bound  by  no  vow.  Go  I  the  waters  are 
open  to  Quebec.  Ahasistari  will  jc  his  father 
of  the  black  gown,  and  share  his  fate." 

The  Hurons  drew  back  from  the  shore  to  the 
side  of  their  chief,  and  stood  immovable.  A 
gleam  of  hope  broke  upon  the  mind  of  the  leader, 
and,  pointing  to  Watook,  he  said :  "  Go !  sweep 
down  the  river  to  the  place  of  gathering ;  bring 
up  the  warriors  who  may  have  escaped,  and  lead 
them  upon  our  trail ;  we  will  rescue  our  people, 
or  perish  with  them." 

Watook's  heart  beat  high.  He  would  bring 
rescue  to  the  very  villages  of  the  Mohawks,  and 
save  the  novice  and  the  priest.  He  stepped 
lightly  into  the  canoe,  and,  with  a  few  strokes, 
sent  it  far  into  the  current.  Then  waving  his 
hand  to  the  three  Hurons  who  stood  silently 


4\ 


/ 


/     ^ 


THE  MORN. 


77 


gazing  after  him^  he  steered  his  course  direotl; 
down  the  river. 

"Watook  hath  a  bold  young  heart;  he  will 
lead  the  braves  of  the  Hurons  when  the  arm  of 
Ahasistari  is  cold/'  said  the  chief;  and  the  three 
devoted  warriors  turned  away  upon  the  trail  of 
the  enemy.  .'♦.,. 

The  Iroquois  marched  silently  on  through  the 
pathless  forest,  striking  directly  for  their  villages, 
guided  only  by  that  wonderful  instinct  which 
enables  an  Indian  to  toil  on,  day  and  night,  over 
hill  and  valley,  through  forest  and  thicket  and 
swamp,  as  unerringly  as  if  directed  by  the  com- 
pass. The  prisoners  were  placed  in  the  centre  of 
the  line,  and  so  guarded  that  escape  was  impos- 
sible. The  two  Frenchmen,  like  the  Hurons, 
were  bound  tightly  with  thongs  of  deer-skin,  but, 
in  the  midst  of  their  sufferings,  they  enjoyed  the 
happy  privilege  of  being  together. 

The  hour  of  noon  had  come;  the  heat  was 

oppressive  even  in  the  shaded  forest,  and  the 

thick  black  dresses  of  the  Jesuit  and  the  novice 

increased  the  sufferings  of  their  painful  march. 

At  length  the  party  paus^  to  Refresh  thetuselves. 
7* 


T8 


THE  MORN. 


"Rene,  my  son,"  said  Father  Laval,  "let  us 
offer  up  the  second  part  of  the  rosary.  It  is  the 
five  dolors.  The  recollections  it  contains  will 
console  us  in  our  sufferings.  In  our  misfortunes 
we  must  pray  to  God  to  assist  us  with  his  heav- 
enly consolations,  and  to  enable  us  to  endure 
them  with  patience.  Let  us  offer  them  up  as  an 
atonement  through  the  blood  of  Christ  for  our 
past  offences." 

The  novice  acquiesced  in  silence,  and  the  priest 
began  the  prayers.  For  a, moment  their  captors 
did  not  heed  the  conversation  of  the  prisoners. 
Father  Laval  proceeded,  and  Bene  Bourdoise 
said  the  responses.  Hitherto  the  captive  Hurons 
had  maintained  a  stern  and  dogged  silence,  per- 
mitting no  sign  of  pain  to  escape  them,  and 
enduring,  passively  and  with  native  stoicism,  all 
the  insults  of  the  Mohawks.  But  the  sound  of 
the  first  "Ave  Maria,"  in  the  clear  voice  of  the 
Jesuit,  came  like  sweet  music  to  their  suUen 
hearts^  softenijQg  theiir  savage  humor^  and  sooth- 
ing them  into  love  and  prayer.  Gently  its  holy 
influence  spread  among  the  group  of  sufferers^ 
and  their  stem  features  became  first  sad,  then 


THE  MOSy. 


79 


*«►. 


calm  and  placid^  until  the  light  of  religious  aspi- 
ration beamed  from  many  a  scarred  face  turned 
mildly  up  to  heaven.  The  response  came  low 
and  broken  from  the  lips  of  the  young  novice, 
swelling  up,  like  a  sweeping  wave,  as  one  by  one 
the  deep  musical  tones  of  the  captive  Hurons 
joined  it.  "Ave  Ifana!''  it  came  like  th« 
thought  of  a  loving  mother,  like  the  memory 
of  a  holy  love.  Ave  Maria  !  swelling  up,  in  the 
wild  ^ibrest,  from  captive  hearts,  from  parched 
and  feverish  lips,  calmed  by  its  gentle  murmurs, 
to  the  mother  of  the  sorrowful,  the  mourning. 
Ave !  like  dew  to  the  withering  flower,  was  the 
sweet  prayer  to  the  stricken  soul,  and  tears  came 
down  the  swarthy  cheeks  of  the  Christian  war«p 
riors. 

Amazed,  the  Mohawks  looked  upon  the  scene ; 
then  they  laughed  aloud  contemptuously  at  the 
faint-hearted  braves  who  wept— wej9^  in  captivity.^ 

"  Pogs !  women  I"  they  said;  "  are  the  Hurons 
no  warriors?    Shall  we  ffo  back  to  their  tribes: 
to  carry  off  a  brave  to  torture?    Ye  ar^  w;omen  I,, 
our  squaws  will  beat  you  with  whips!    Ye  are^ 
not  worthy  of  a  warrior's  death.'^ 


mm 


mmm 


"P 


80 


TffF  MORN. 


u^ 


But  the  Christian  Hurons  prayed  on — Sanda 
Mai-ial — their  full,  deep  voices  piercing  up  to 
heaven,  heedless  of  the  scorn  and  taunts  and 
blows  of  their  captors.  At  length  a  Mohawk 
approached  the  Jesuit. 

"Does  the  word  of  the  Medicine  turn  the 
Huron  warriors  to  women  ?  He  is.  a  magician — 
let  him  be  silent ; "  and  he  struck  him  a  blow  in 
the  ft^ce  with  his  clenched  hand.  The  blood 
gushed  from  the  lips  of  the  priest,  and  he  bowed 
his  head  in  silence 

In  the  forest  from  a  thicket  three  figures, 
crouching  low,  glared  fiercely  out  upon  the 
scene;  over  the  dark  features  of  the  chief  of 
these  flashed  the  fire  of  anger ;  his  nostrils  were 
dilated,  his  lips  parted,  his  hand  grasped  his  car- 
abine convulsively.  Then  as  the  priest  bowed 
meekly  to  the  blow,  the  warrior  released  his 
weapon  and  pressed  his  hands  upon  his  brow  as 
if  to  shut  out  the  scene ;  a  low  sigh  escaped  him, 
and  he  too  knelt  and  prayed.  But  for  the  meek 
bearing  of  the  priest,  recalling  the  duty  of  the 
Christian  to  the  heart  of  the  chief,  there  surely 
would  have  been  death  among  the  conqueroifs 


y 


THE  MORN, 


81 


in  that  instant.  Ahasistari  knelt  and  prayed. 
The  time  for  action  had  not  yet  come:  it  was 
not  vengeance,  but  deliverance  that  he  sought. 

The  Jesuit  bowed  meekly  to  the  blow;  then 
raising  his  /es  up  to  heaven,  while  his  axms 
were  drawn  back  by  the  tight  thong  around  his 
wrists,  he  prayed  on  in  silence.  In  silence  prayed 
the  captives — but  the  still  incense  of  their  hearts 
floated  upwards  not  lest  sweetly  to  the  throne  of 
God.  It  was  the  dedication  of  the  forests  of  the 
Iroquois  to  the  faith  of  Christ. 
.  The  Mohawks  soon  made  their  repast,  and 
snatched  a  few  moments  of  repose.  The  wretched 
remains  of  their  dinner  were  thrown  to  the  cap- 
tives, whose  hunger  was  left  unsat^isfied,  while, 
from  the  tightness  of  their  bands,  they  were 
unable  to  enjoy  the  momentary  rest  afforded  by 
the  halt.  The  line  of  march  was  soon  foimed 
again,  and  the  Mohawks,  refreshed  by  their 
repose,  hurried  on  the  tired  captives  at  a  rapid 
pace,  urging  the  weary  and  the  lagging  with 
heavy  blows.     Many  hours  passed  thus. 

Rene  Bourdoise  was  faint  and  weary,  and  his 
faltering  step  betokened  that  without  rest  hia 


-— TT- 


."  ■  ^  'f  ■" ' '      '     .   ..  '    "'■"""  ■ i^^^Bgg 


82 


2  HE  MORN, 


Strength  would  soon  give  out.  In  that  case  a 
certain  death  awaited  him ;  for  the  captors  would 
not  pause  or  delay  ^vhen  a  blow  of  the  toma- 
hawk could,  in  a  molSieiit,  relieve  them  of  their 
trouble, 

A  Mohawk  warrior,  perceiving  his  weariness, 
approached  him,  and,  brandishing  his  weapon 
over  his  head,  pointed  forward  to  the  route  they 
were  pursuing,  and  intimated,  by  a  significant 
gesturf ,  his  fate  in  case  he  should  be  unable  to 
keep  up  with  the  party.  Thus  incited,  the  young 
novice  exerted  himself  anew,  and,  ever,  and  anon, 
his  tormentor,  as  his  efforts  seemed  to  flag,  assumed 
a  threatening  posture,  or  struck  him  with  a  heavy 
stick  which  he  had  picked  up  on  the  march,  or 
pricked  him  forward  with  the  point  of  his  knife. 
The  folds  of  his  black  robe  were  stiff  with  blood, 
yet  the  fainting  novice  toiled  on  patiently,  turning 
up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  murmuring  a  gentle 
prayer  for  his  tormentors.  Father  Laval,  stronger 
and  more  accustomed  to  fatigue,  looked  in  help- 
less agony  upon  the  suffering  of  his  young  com- 
panion; he  cheered  him  onward  with  words  of 
hope,  and   then,  as  the  cruelty  of  the  savagt 


/ 


*!     ■« 


TE£  MORN. 


\ 


w 


.M 


(^ 


88 


increased,  he  consoled  him  with  thoughts  of  holy 
comfort. 

"  Bear  up,  my  son.  Thou  art  the  soldier  of 
Jesus.  Thou  art  scourged — fie  was  scourged. 
It  is  a  glorious  privilege  to  die  in  his  service ; 
heaven  is  the  reward  of  the  happy  martyr." 

"  Pray  for  me,  father,  pray  for  me.  O  God  !*' 
continued  the  youthful  novice,  looking  sadly  up 
to  heaven,  "  O  God !  grant  me  strength  to  endure 
this  trial ;  grant  me  fortitude  |  '^ 

The  road  became  more  diflBcult  and  the  pro- 
gress more  painful.  A  powerful  Huron  marched 
near  the  delicate  young  Frenchman;  no  word 
had  yet  escaped  his  lips.  At  length  he  ap- 
proached the  sufiferer,  and,  pressing  his  huge 
shoulder  against  him,  said : 

"  Lean  on  me,  my  brother ! " 

At  the  sam  oment  Kiohba,  the  relentless 
Mohawk,  again  pricked  the  bleeding  novice  with 
his  knife.  The  youth  started  forward,  and,  with 
a  deep  groan,  fell  to  the  ground.  There  he  lay, 
unable  to  rise.  The  Iroquois  grasped  his  toma- 
hawk with  a  savage  exclamation,  and  raised  it 
over  his  head  to  strike  the  exhausted  captive. 


V  T I  -LI  .1     11     ^^^'^^^'  ■'  i  y ^y*?Ty'''<''w'''w>iip 


mmmmm^ 


84 


THE  MORN. 


It  was  a  momeirt  of  agony.  The  tall  Huron 
sprang  forward ;  with  a  mighty  effort  he  burst 
the  cords  that  bound  his  wrists,  and  rushed 
between  the  Iroquois  and  his  victim.  On  his 
left  arm  he  caught  the  descending  blow,  which 
gashed  deep  ipto  his  brawny  muscles ;  with  his 
right  he  lifted  up  tho^  light  form  of  the  novice, 
and,  folding  it  to  his  powerful  chest,  while  the 
pale  face  of  the  insensible  youth  rested  gently  on 
his  dark^red  shoulder,  strode  sternly  forward  to 
the  front  of  the  group  of  captives.  Deep  excla- 
mations of  satisfaction  escaped  the  Iroquois  5  but 
no  one  attempted  to  interrupt  the  warrior,  for 
the  Indian  loves  a  bold  deed, 

"He  is  brave,*'  said  one;  "he  is  worthy  of  the 
stake.'* 

"Yes,  he  is  a  warrior;  he  shall  die  by  the 
torture!" 

The  Huron  strode  on  with  his  helpless  burden, 
as  tenderly  and  gently  guarding  it  as  a  father 
does  the  child  he  loves. 

'  "Le  Loup  will  bear  his  young  white  brother," 
he  exclaimed. 

Tears  flowed  down  the  cheeks  of  the  Jesuit, 


TriK  MORN. 


85 


tt'' 


•.ad  he  raised  his  heart  to  heaven  in  thankfulness 
for  the  providential  rescue  of  his  companion.     ^ 

At  the  same  instant  the  cry  of  a  hawk  was 
heard  in  the  forest,  repeated  thrice  clearly  and 
shrilly,  then  seeming  tc  die  away  in  the  distanc*" 
■ — a  gleam  of  joy  broke  out  on  the  bronzed  face 
of  the  Huron,  and  with  a  firmer  and  lighter  step 
Le  Loup  pressed  onward.  He  knew  by  the 
signal  that  his  chief  was  upon  their  trail,  and 
that  three  of  his  tribe  were  near.  The  Iroquois 
listened  suspiciously  to  the  sound,  but  it  was 
repeated  no  more.  .  .  .  •  .  ,  :,k..j.. 

The  sun  was  sinking  low  in  the  west.  The 
shades  of  the  hills  grew  out  lengthening.  On  the 
bosom  of  the  river  the  red  light  fell  in  streams, 
sparkling  from  the  summits  of  the  little  waves. 
Far  down  its  waters,  many  a  weary  mile,  a  war 
canoe,  urged  on  by  a  single  Indian,  made  its  way. 
Large  drops  of  sweat  stood  upon  the  rower's 
brow.  A  moment  he  paused  and  gazed  upon 
the  setting  sun,  then,  shaking  his  clenched  hand 
towards  the  far  southwest,  bent  sternly  to  hig 
oar  once  more. 

At  length  he  turned  the  bow  of  his  canof 


mmB^ 


^^wwn>  ^    ,1'    '..r;'"  ^t"".  i*".^ 


'i  ifi'i,  r'n'iv;.  \  I ii""Vi'Wiii)ynjBi 


86 


THE  MORN. 


f\-^ 


towards  the  shore ;  he  reached  it,  and  bounded 
on  the  beach.  Then  drawing  his  bark  upon  the 
sand,  he  stepped  into  the  forest  with  his  toma- 
hawk in  his  hand,  and  began  to  examine  the 
treea  some  distance  from  the  water,  and,  finding 
no  marks  on  them,  notched  several  in  a  peculiar 
manner.  As  he  went  further  in,  a  figure  stepped 
from  behind  a  large  oak  which  had  hitherto  con- 
cealed him,  and  approaching  the  canoe,  inspected 
it  carefully,  and  afterwards  bent  over  the  foot- 
steps of  the  young  Indian.  The  person  was 
dressed  in  a  hunting-shirt  gathered  close  around 
his  waist  by  a  leathern  belt,  which  also  served  to 
support  a  long  curved  knife,  and  a  small  steel 
axe.  A  large  powder-horn  and  a  ball-pouch  of 
deer-skin  were  slung  over  his  shoulder ;  his  feet 
and  legs  were  protected  by  moccasins  and  leggings 
of  untanned  skin,  and  his  equipments  were  com- 
pleted by  a  small  black  hair  cap  set  jauntily  on 
his  head.  He  seemed  satisfied  with  the  result  of 
his  examination,  and  said  half  aloud  as  he  &rose : 
"Huron  canoe — Huron  moccasin — no  Mohawk 
thief — and  now  Pierre  for  Mons.  le  sauvage." 
Pierre  had  emigrated  from  France  many  years 


H: 


\^ 


THE  MORN. 


87 


^7 


before,  and  with  the  aid  of  his  son  had  made 
himself  useful  as  a  hunter  to  the  smaller  outposts 
of  the  French.  He  supplied  them  with  game. 
In  one  of  their  excursions  the  Mohawks  came 
upon  them,  and  after  a  long  chase  succeeded  in 
killing  and  scalping  the  young  man.  Henceforth 
Pierre  considered  the  Mohawks  as  his  deadliest 
enemies.  He  had  served  as  a  spy  under  the  great 
Champlain — a  man  dreaded  by  the  Indians  of 
every  tribe,  and  whose  name  had  become  a  war- 
cry  to  the  French.  Pierre  was  an  expert  woods- 
man, and  an  indefatigable  Indian  fighter — well 
known  and  loved  by  the  Hurons,  who  gave  him^ 
the  sobriquet  of  ^'L'Uspion  hardV 

The  Frenchman  laughed  as  he  entered  the 
forest  to  meet  the  Indian.  "  Ho,  ho,  Huron," 
he  shouted  as  he  strode  carelessly  along.  Watook 
heard  the  voice,  and  springing  to  a  tree,  cast  his 
rifle  into  rest ;  but  the  dress  and  language  of  the 
speaker  told  him  it  was  a  friend,  and  he  came 
leaping  towards  him. 

"  Ugh  !  L'Espion  hardi  I  The  pale-face  is  the 
friend  of  the  Huron,'^  he  said. 

"  Very  true,  savage,  very  true." 


'J 

I 


»9 


ijpwwjw 


A 


wmm 


88 


THB  MORN. 


*'  Has  the  Frenchman  found  any  Hurons  here?" 
and  he  waved  his  hand  around. 

"  None  but  yourself,  Huron." 

Then  Watook  told  him  of  the  sad  misfortune 
which  had  befallen  his  party,  and  of  the  capture 
of  the  two  Frenchmen,  and  how  he  had  come 
thither  to  gather  the  scattered  Hurons  and  at- 
tempt a  rescue.  Exclamations  of  anger  escaped 
the  hunter  as  he  listened  to  the  story,  and  his 
manner  became  more  grave. 

"  The  scalp  of  the  son  of  the  Daring  Scout 
hangs  in  the  Mohawk  lodge.    Is  his  knife  rusty ; 
'will  he  strike  the  trail  of  the  Iroquois  ?  "  said  the 
Indian  in  conclusion. 

Pierre  drew  the  weapon  from  his  belt, and  ran 
his  finger  across  its  glittering  blade — and  his 
feeling  deepened  into  fury  as  he  remembered  the 
sad  day  on  which  his  son  had  perished. . 

"Huron,'^  he  said  at;  length  in  a  stern  voice, 
"Huron!  ^Daring  Scout'  will  strike  the  Mo-, 
hawk  in  his  village;"  then,  rexjovering  his 
wonted  equanimity,  continued : 

"'the  braves  probably  went  deep  into  the 
.  forest  before  they  struck  off  towards  the  rendez- 


4 


It 


v^ 


TffU  MORN. 


89 


V0U8- — they  will  be  here  yet — for  the  current  of 
the  river  assisted  you  forward  ahead  of  them ;  it 
is  rapid  now.  Let  us  build  a  fire  and  pass  the 
night  here.  No  Mohawks  are  outlying  now ;  for 
the  party  you  feb  *n  with  must  have  been  a 
strong  one^  and  it  is  not  lively  that  there  is 
another  out.  When  the  Hurons  come  in,  we 
will  strike  oflF  through  the  forest  to  the  trail  of 
your  chief." 

The  counsel  seemed  wise  to  the  Indian,  and 
they  prepared  to  bivouac  upon  the  spot.  About 
midnight  the  sound  of  a  footstep  struck  upon  the 
ear  of  the  Frenchman,  who  kept  watch,  sitting 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree  shaded  from  the  light  of  the 
fire. 

"  Qui  vive,"  said  the  hunter,  who  still  adhered 
somewhat  to  his  old  military  habits:  " Qui  vive;'' 
but  the  figure  approached,  and  the  next  moment 
a  Huron  stalked  up  to  the  fire.  Watook  awoke 
and  greeted  his  comrade. 

"  The  Hurons  arc  scattered,  and  will  come  in 
slowly,  for  thoy  ai'e  very  weary ,'^  said  the  stranger. 
He  made  no  other  allusion  to  their  late  defeat. 

When  morning  dawned,  four  or  five  warriors 


y 


90 


THE  MORN, 


liad  collected,  and  the  impatient  Watook  proposed 
to  set  out. 

"  No,"  said  the  Huron  who  had  first  come  in ; 
"  more  braves  come — more  braves." 

"They  are  already  two  days'  march  before 
us,"  said  Watook;  but  Pierre  coincided  with  the 
first.  By  the  hour  of  noon  about  fifteen  warriors 
had  assembled,  some  of  them  wounded,  and  all 
wearied.  Compelled  by  stern  necessity,  that 
night  they  passed  at  the  place  of  rendezvous,  and 
on  the  following  morn  set  out,  through  the  forest, 
to  strike  on  the  trail  of  the  Iroquois 

Night  and  morn  came  and  went,  night  and 
morn  the  captors  and  their  captives  toiled  on 
through  the  pathless  forest.  Still  on — on  went 
the  weary  march ;  still  on  the  rear  of  the  con- 
quering Mohawks  hovered  three  dusky  forms— 
stern,  silent,  watchful. 


I 


CHAPTER  VIL 


THE  RETURN, 

[ORNING  Flower,  why  art  thou  sad  ?  the 
young  eagle  of  his  tribe  will  soon  return. 
Kiskepila  will  bring  back  the  scalps  of 
Huron  warriors  at  his  girdle :  he  will  conae  back 
adorned  with  eagle-feathers,  and  the  women  of 
his  nbe  w'U  sing  his  deeds.  He  will  bring 
home  many  spoils,  and  will  take  the  budding 
Flower  of  morn  to  bloom  in  his  own  lodge  I  '^ 

"  No,  Dancing  Fawn,  the  warriors  of  the  tribe 
have  been  gone  many  days  on  the  war-path. 
Many  suns  have  set  since  the  appointed  hour  of 
return  passed  by.  The  voices  of  the  night  have 
whispered  in  the  ear  of  Morning  Flower.  Mis- 
fortune is  on  the  path  of  the  brave  He  will 
return  no  more." 

"Drooping  Flower/'  said  the  other,  drawing 

91 


^. 


<^:^. 


A 

w. 


€W 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


7 


A 


<^    \o 


:/. 


f/u 


1.0    fM  IIIIIM 


I.I 


15  6        i^^^ 


M 

2.2 


12.0 


!.8 


1.25      1.4 

1.6 

.« 6"     — 

► 

VI 


<^ 


/^ 


>> 


'c^l 


c'^^ 


o 


/ 


/A 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAI^  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


92 


THM  RETURN, 


'  N 


i:5i, 


up  haughtily^  "is  not  the  blood  of  the  conquer^ 
ing  Iroquois  in  thy  veins?  and  yet  thou  trem- 
blest  because  the  braves  of  the  tribe  putlie  upon 
the  war-path  a  few  suns  longer  than  the  appointed 
time.  Thinkest  thou  that  the  Huron  dogs  could 
withstand  the  invincible  Mohawk  \  The  Hurons 
are  cowards :  they  have  forsaken  Owaneeyo  *  for 
the  God  of  the  pale-face,  and  Owaneeyo  has 
chilled  their  hearts  and  turned  their  blood  to 
water.  The  Hurons  are  dogs ! "  and  the  speaker 
tossed  her  hand  contemptuously  towards  the 
Huron  country. 

She  was  a  nobla-looking  Indian  girl.  Her 
blapk  eye  sparkled  as  she  9poke,  and  the  height- 
ened color  of  her  cheek  betrayed  the  quick  passion 
of  the  untrained  child  of  nature.  The  pther  wa^ 
of  gentle  mood;  her  full  and  liquid  eye  looked 
out  softly  from  beneath  the  long  and  sweeping 
lash  that  shaded  its  light.  Her  hair  was  jetty 
black,  and,  though  straight,  was  finer  and  sptlter 
than  usual  in  the  Indian  race:  it  was  braided  in 
glossy  folds  around  her  temples,  and  gathered  in 
a  loop  behind,  bound  up  with  bands  of  bright- 

*  The  owner  and  ruler  of  all  thingg.  \ 


0 

■v 


\* 


■i 


1 


wm 


THS  RETURN, 


98 


..  f 


\ 
^ 


colored  bark  interwoven  with  beads.  Her  dress 
was  a  mantle^  curiously  wrought  with  gayly-col- 
ored  feathers,  and  trimmed  with  tufts  of  elk-hair 
dyed  red,  thrown  gracefully  around  her  form, 
leaving  her  left  arm  and  «dH>ulder  bare.  H^ 
limbs  were  finely  moulded. 
'  Below  the  maidjens  stretched  a  scene  of  great 
beauty.  From  two  hills,  covered  with  heavy 
forest-trees,  an  open  sward  sloped  gradually  on 
either  side,  until  both  blended  into  a  little  plain 
between  travei'sed  by  a  small  stream,  on  whose 
banks  a  group  of  children  were  playing  busily— 
now  plunging  into  the  shallow  waters,  and  now 
sunning  themselves  upon  the  soft  and  luxuriant 
grass  that  bordered  it.  On  the  northern  side, 
where  the  descent  faced  full  towards  the  south, 
was  ranged  a  number  of  Indian  wigwams,  in  the 
centre  of  which  stood  the  council-lodge,  rising 
conspicuous  above  the  rest  of  the  village.  Before 
the  doors  of  some  of  the  cabins  groups  of  old  men 
and  children  were  gathered,  while  the  squaws 
were  passing  to  and  fro,  engaged  in  their  domes- 
tic labors.  At  the  edge  of  the  forest  a  number  of 
youths  were  practising  with  the  bow  and  arrow. 


94 


THE  RETURN. 


The  western  portion  of  the  slope  was  filled  with 
young  corn,  green  and  luxuriant  in  its  growth, 
with  its  white  tassels  and  ears  already  blooming 
out.  On  the  southern  bank  of  the  stream  swept 
upwards  a  gentle  ascent  of  beautiful  green-sward, 
gayly  interspersed  with  the  gloriously  tinted  wild 
flowers  that  adorn  the  fields  of  America.  Around 
this  little  valley,  like  a  palisade,  stood  the  edge 
of  the  forest,  its  interminable  depths  stretching 
fiir  away  towards  the  horizon,  until,  like  the 
green  waters  of  a  vast  ocean,  its  waving  foliage 
seemed  to  mingle  with  the  distant  sky. 

The  two  Indian  maidens  reclined  upon  the 
soft  turf  at  the  edge  of  the  forest  above  the  vil- 
lage, and  for  a  few  moments  gazed  down  in  silence 
upon  the  valley.  The  thick  foliage  of  a  massive 
oak  overhung  them,  and  shaded  them  from  the 
warm  rays  of  the  sun. 

*'  Dancing  Fawn,"  at  length  resumed  the  young 
girl,  "  the  French  warriors  are  terrible  in  battle, 
riding  fierce  horses,  and  with  their  breasts-  clad 
in  steel;  perchance  the  braves  have  fallen  in  with 
them  and  been  cut  oflF." 

"False  Mohawk  girl,  have  not  the  braves  of 


1 


f|>iyT 


•mm 


r    ■ 


V     '^. 


I 


TffE  RETURlf. 


96 


our  nation  met  the  French  in  battle?  Their 
war-cry  is  like  the  roar  of  Unghiara*  —  the 
Huron  and  the  pale-faces  tremble  at  its  sound. 
But  listen^  Morning  Flower!  heard  you  that 
faint  shout  ?  See  I  it  has  aroused  the  village  I " 
The  young  maidens  arose  from  their  recum- 
bent position^  and  awaited  in  expectation  the 
event.  The  village  below  them  now  exhibited 
a  dijfferent  and  more  lively  aspect.  The  youths 
had  quitted  their  pastime  and  gathered  around 
the  council-lodge  where  the  old  men  of  the  tribe 
had  assembled.  The  women  had  left  their  occu- 
pations^ and  were  clamorously  joining  the  group. 
At  length  another  yell  broke  from  the  forest  far 
to  the  east,  and  came  faintly  swelling  to  the 
expectant  crowd.  In  a  few  moments  more  a 
runner  emerged  from  the  forest,  and,  loping 
down  the  hill,  hurried  on  towards  the  village. 
As  he  approached,  the  assemblage  opened  to 
receive  him,  pud  he  paused  in  silence  before  the 
chief,  who  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  vener- 
able warriors.   Kiodego  f  motioned  him  to  speak. 

*  Niagara. 

f  <^  A  settler  of  disputes." 


mm^ifmim 


mmr^mi 


T 


96 


THE  RETURN. 


^ 


"  The  braves  of  the  Mohawks,"  said  the 
ninnef,  "are  mighty  warriors;  their  arms  are 
strong,  and  the  Hurons  are  dogs.  The  French 
become  women  before  the  battle-axes  of  the  Mo- 
hawks.  The  warriors-  bring  back  scalps  and 
many  prisoners;  they  have  captured  the  great 
medicine  of  the  French  ^  they  have  routed  and 
skin  many  Hurons."  Then  he  recounted  the 
names  of  the  wounded — for  of  the  dead  the 
Indian  speaks  not.  As  he  mentioned  the  name 
of  Kiskepila,  the  son  of  the  old  chief,  a  deep  sigh 
broke  from  the  lips  of  the  Morning  Flower,  and 
her  head  eunk  for  a  moment  upon  her  breaStV. 
Then  she  raised  it  up  proudly,  and  fierce  detei^ 
mination  lit  up  her  beautiful  features.  Gloom 
had  passed  away.  Kiodego  sat  unmoved,  evimc- 
ing  no  concern  for  the  misfortune  of  his  son.  As 
the  runner  finished  his  recital,  a  shout  broke  from 
the  assemblage,  which  was  answered  from  the 
forest  by  a  succession  of  yells,  whose  -increasing 
tone  marked  the  near  approach  of  the  eori-^ 
querors;  it  was  the  scalp -whoop.  Then  caiiie 
another  succession  of  yells,  one  for  each  prisoner. 
At  this  signal   the  crowd  around  the  council-* 


IMI  :■ 


TffH  R  JET  URN. 

lodge  dispersed  to  the  different  wigwams,  but 
soon  reassembled,  every  one  armed  with  weapons 
of  some  kind;  kniyeft,  tomahawks,  stones,  and 
war -clubs.  As  soon  as  the  runner  appeared^ 
Morning  Flower  and  her  companion  had  de- 
scended and  mingled  with  the  group  before  the 
lodge,  and  now,  armed  like  the  other  women  of 
the  tribe,  they  hurried  off  towards  the  edge  of 
the  forest.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to 
recognize  the  sorrowing,  lone,  lorn  Indian 
maiden  with  the  drooping  glance,  in  the  e:?:cited 
form  that  wound  amid  the  group,  urging  on  her 
sister  furies  to  greater  frenzy. 

"The  Gentle  Flower,^'  she  said  to  Dancing 
Fawn,  "is  a  Mohawk  maiden;  a  thorn  has 
pierced  through  her  moccasin  and  wounded  her 
foot.  She  will  pluck  it  out,  and  with  it  tear  the 
flesh  of  the  Frenchman.  The  Morning  Flower 
will  avenge  the  wound  of  Kiskepila  I " 

The  inhabitants  of  the  village  had  arranged 
themselves  in  two  lines  on  the  open  space  south 
of  the  little  rivulet,  for  by  that  side  the  war- 
party,  having  made  a  detour  in  the  forest,  were 

to  enter  on  the  valley.     Thus  the  lines  ran  from 
9  G 


98 


THE  RETURN, 


the  south-west  up  towards  the  village.  Old 
women  with  staves^  young  gentle  maidens  with 
heavy  clubs,  youths  with  knives  and  tomahawks, 
iand  even  the  little  naked  children,  with  sharp 
stones,  stood  waiting,  with  savage  exultation,  for 
the  coming  of  the  prisoners. 

The  triumphant  songs  of  the  returning  warriors 
became  every  moment  more  distinct ;  at  length, 
hx  down  the  shaded  avenues  of  the  forest,  the 
front  of  the  body  appeared  in  view.  A  cry  of 
wild  joy  broke  from  the  expectant  savages,  and 
the  two  lines  waved  and  undulated  along  their 
whole  length,  as  each  person  endeavored  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  triumphant  braves.  On  they 
came!  —  the  warrior  stepping  more  firmly,  and 
erecting  his  head  more  proudly,  as  he  beheld  the 
old  men  of  his  village  at  the  council-lodge,  in  the 
distance,  and,  nearer,  the  women  and  the  children 
who  would  sing  his  gallant  deeds,  and  the  youths 
who  would  learn  to  emulate  his  fame.  On  they 
came,  swinging  high  the  scalps  they  had  taken,  ^ 
the  bloody  trophies  of  their  victory,  and  chant- 
ing the  story  of  their  actions.  At  length*  they 
emerged  from  the  forest,  and  stood  in  the  bright 


n 


THE  RETURN, 


99 


sun  upon  the  beautiful  green  slope  of  verdure. 
The  prisoners  were  grouped  together;  their 
captors  now  singled  them  out,  preparing  them 
to  start  upon  the  fearful  trial  which  awaited 
them.  Father  Laval  was  pale  and  jaded;  his 
face  was  scarred  and  bruised,  and  the  clotted 
blood  still  disfigured  his  wounded  features;  his 
hands  were  yet  bound  behind  him.  A  Mohawk 
approached  to  sever  the  cord;  the  flesh  had  so 
swollen  around  the  tight  band  as  almost  to  con- 
ceal it,  and  the  knife  of  the  savage  gashed  the 
hands  of  the  priest.  Released  from  their  con- 
finebient,  his  arms  fell  heavily  to  his  side, 
inanimate,  and  refusing  to  obey  the  stiff  and 
swollen  muscles.  The  blood  began  to  creep 
slowly  in  the  veins,  and  the  sensation  of  numb- 
ness was  'succeeded  by  one  of  acute  pain.  The 
Indian  then  loosed  the  band  which  conflned  the 
black  robe  of  the  Jesuit  around  his  body.  His 
outer  garment  was  next  taken  off,  and  Father 
Laval  stood  half  unrobed ;  his  shirt  was  stained 
with  blood,  and  his  naked  feet  and  legs  were 
torn  and  bleeding,  and  festering  with  thorns 
and  briers ;  every  step  left  its  mark  in  blood. 


■mfW»»"^"""T" 


^■""WiPI 


msimmm 


MP^Pfl^JF 


-V 


100 


THE  RETURN. 


The  work  of  the  Indian  was  soon  done,  and 
the  captives  were  prepared  to  run  the  gauntlet. 
The  tender  frame  of  the  young  novice,  with  the 
red  bloody  inerusted  upon  his  delicate  skin,  and 
his  limbs  brmsed  and  swollen,  and  almost  help- 
less, contrasted  strangely  with  the  massive  pro^ 
portions  of  Le  Loup,  who  still  kept  close  beside 
him,  ready  fo  aid  him  in  his  aeed.  Strong,  and 
seemingly  unwearied,  the  Huron  stood  up  like  a 
mighty  statue  of  bronze,  heedless  of  the  many 
wounds  upon  his  limbs  and  breast.  "My 
father  rV  he  said  to  the  Jesuit,  as  they  neared 
each  other  for  a  moment,  "my  father,  when  Le 
Loup  springs  forward  between  the  lines,  hasten 
on,  and  seek  to  avoid  the  blows  of  the  Iroquois  I 
Make  for  the  war-post  by  the  council-lodge— ^ 
gain  it,  and  you  are  safe!^'  #4«f 

Rene  Bourdoise  turned  towards  the  spot  indi- 
cated by  Le  Loup  to  the  Jesuit)  and  his  heart 
shrunk  within  him.  A  hundred  yelling  furies, 
with  clubs  and  knives,  were  between  them  and " 
the'  place  of  refuge,  and  his  limbs  were  faint  and 
weary.    He  raised  his  soul  to  God. 

"  Fear  not,  brother,"  said    Le  Loup,  "  but^ 
gather  up  all  thy  strength." 


^p^ 


TBS  RETURN. 


161 


K»** 


#■■• 


"I  will  trust  in  God,"  replied  the  novioe^ 
sadly. 

*'  It  i&  tBe  eve  of  the  Assumption  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  my  son,"  exdaimed  the  Jesuit.  "  Let  us 
place  ourselves  under  her  special  protection.  She 
will  intercede  for  our  safety;  or  if  it  be  God's 
holy  will,  she  will  obtain  for  us  strength  to  win 
the  crown  of  Martyrdom;  And  lo ! "  he  added, 
his  countenance  gleaming  with  joy,  and  his  worn 
and  weakened  form  swelling  erect  with  enthu- 
siasm, "and  lo I  the  blood  of  our  Martyrdom,  of 
our  triumph  on  the  eve  of  her  glorious  and  tri-. 
umphant  Assumption  into  Heaven,  may  become 
the  forerunner  of  her  Patronage  oyer  this  new 
land..  With  our  sufferings,  however  unworthy, 
let  us  dedicate  it  to  her  invocation  I" 

At  length  the  word  was  given:  "  Joggo!"— . 
fVgo  L"  -^and  the  prisoners  started.  The  power- 
ful Huron  broke  away  at  a  swinging  trot,  which 
puzzled  Father  Laval  to  eqaaU  Le  Loup  made 
fcH* .  the  opening  of  the  lines :  a  hundred  ai^ 
were  uplifted  to  strike — knives  glistened^  and  the 
whole  gang  of  furies  yelled  with  a  savage  delight. 
The  strong  runner  paused  for  a  moment  till  the 

■     .9*    . 


mn^ 


Tn^^iii^a^"" 


^■VpipitVPIOTMMMBi 


y  > 


102 


THM  RETURN. 


Jesuit  was  close  behind  him^  then  bounding  for* 
ward,  he  dashed  fiercely  into  the  midst  of  the 
crowd,  casting  aside  their  blows  and  overturning 
many  in  his  path.  Yet  he  did  not  pass  scatheless, 
and,  ere  he  had  gone  half  the  distance,  the  blood 
was  streaming  from  his  wojanded  body.  The 
whole  rage  of  the  whippers  was  in  a  moment 
turned  upon  him,  for  he  had  succeeded  in  baffling 
many  of  them,  and  uiey  were  pursuing  him  re- 
gardless of  the  rest,  and  permitting  the  two 
Frenchmen  to  escape  with  little  suffering.  But 
there  was  one  whose  passion  was  not  to  be  led  off. 
Morning  Flower  scorned  to  wreak  her  vengeance 
upon  the  Huron,  for.  she  conceived  that  none  but 
the  Frenchman  could  have  stricken  down  the 
Young  Eagle.  Her  eye  was  turned  upon  the 
Jesuit,  whom  she  saw  passing  almost  unharmed 
in  the  rear  of  the  powerful  warriors.  At  length 
Father  Laval  <name  near  her,  hastening  forward 
at  as  great  speed  as  his  swollen  and  stiffened 
limbs  would  permit.  She  grasped  a  club  of  hard- 
ened wood  in  her  hand— her  arm  was  raised — ^the 
Jesuit  cast  an  imploring  look  upon  her,  but  the 
heftrt  of  the  girl  was  st  eled  to  pty ;  her  savage 


4 


THE  RETURN, 


103 


nature  was  unyielding,  and  bhe  struck  him  a 
heavy  blow.  He  staggered  forward,  about  to 
fall;  at  the  next  moment  he  was  raised  and 
hurried  forward  by  the  arm  of  one  of  his  Huron 
neophytes.  Blinded .  and  stunned  by  the  shower 
of  blows  which  fell  upon  him,  he  still  pressed 
forward,  awaiting  every  moment  the  final  stroke, 
which  would  close  his  sufferings,  when  suddenly 
it  seemed  to  him  that  a  new  vigor  was  infused 
into  his  limbs,  that  he  walked  erect  and  unfalter- 
ingly among  his  raging  persecutors,  while  amid  a 
radiance  enclosing  him  as  within  a  veil  of  glory, 
broke  upon  his  astonished  eyes  a  vision  of  celes- 
tial beauty  whose  pitying  eye,  and  glowing  heart 
and  outstretched  helping  hands,  consoled,  encour- 
aged, guided  and  protected  him.  At  length  he 
knelt  safe  from  further  harm  at  the  war-post,  and 
ere  he  arose  from  his  prayer  of  gratitude,  the  beau- 
teous vision  had  faded  from  his  eyes — though  its 
impress  never  left  his  heart.  A  wild  spectacle 
met  his  eye  as  he  gazed  over  the  field  through 
which  he  had  just  passed.  The  tall  Huron,  Le 
Loup,  heedless  of  blows  and  wounds,  was  still 
Btruggling  through  the  savage  throng/ carrying 


/ 


r* 


«p 


104 


THE  RETURN. 


the  main  body  of  the  whippers  after  him  and 
around  him.  Ever  as  he  turned  and  doubled,  a 
portion  of  his  tormentors  would  start  before  him  , 
to  cut  off  his  escape;  then,  like  the  hunted  wolf, 
he  would  burst  upon  them  with  all  his  strength, 
and  break  through  them— only  to  find  another 
body  ready  to  receive  him.  A  group  of  old 
squaws,  armed  like  fiends  with  the  worst  weapons 
they  could  obtain,  pointed  and  jagged  stones, 
sharjSened  sticks  and  knives,  attempted  to  stop 
his  course.  He  dashed  into  the  midst  of  them, 
striking  the  first  to  the  earth  before  she  could  aim 
^•*blow ;  yelling  horribly  as  she  fell,  she  clasped 
the  warrior's  feet  and  tripped  him  up.  With  his 
outstretched  arms  he  grasped  several  of  his  perse- 
cutors, and  they  came  to  the  ground  together : 
his  pursuers,  close  ^t  his  heels,  fell  over  them, 
and  the  living  pile  struggled  together  in  inextri^ 
cable  confusion,  striking  and  beating  each  other 
indiscriminately,  A  shout  of  laughter  broke 
from  the  Mohawk  warriors,  who  watched  th0 
scene  with  interest.  Winding  out  from  the  living 
mass  that  was  piled  up  above  him,  the  Huron 
sprang  again  to  his  feet  and  started  ofiT;  delivered 


t 


TBE  RETUltN. 


106 


t 


i  '-^ 


.  from  moi^  than  half  his  pursuers^  who  still  lay 
struggling  together — the  upper  ones  believing 
that  their  victim  was  still  in  their  power,  while 
the  efforts  made  by  those  underneath  to  arise 
made  the  confusion  still  more  dire.  The  Huron 
was  speeding  on.  ^   . 

Half-way  to  the  post  tottered  on  the  poor 
novice,  Rene  Bourdoise,  his  young  limbs  stiff 
and  fainting.  Ah  I  little  did  he  think,  when  he 
quitted  the  shores  of  beautiful  and  gentle  France, 
of  the  wild  scenes  of  suffering  and  torture  he  was 
to  endure  for  the  sake  of  Christ  in  the  dreary 
wilderness  of  the  west.  The  companions  of^Jpis 
early  days  were  wandering  through  the  bright 
valleys  of  his  native  land ;  songs  of  joy  were 
upon  their  lips,  glad  music  ringing  in  their  ears, 
loving  hearts  and  tender  hands  around  them.  In 
his  ear  rang  the  yell  of  the  wild  Mohawkj  and 
the  hand  of  the  pitiless  savage  was  upon  hirft. 
Then  he  called  to  mind  his  solemn  vocation,  and 
devoting  himself  to  suffering,  clasped  his  hands 
towards  heaven,  and  struggled  on. 

'^  Grant  me  strength  to  bear  my  cross,  O  God  I^' 
he  said,  v 


106 


THE  RETURN. 


The  novice  had  already  reached  the  stream: 
he  had  received  Jittle  else  but  passing  blows,  for 
the  strong  Hurons  afforded  better  game  to  these 
human  hunters.  The  younger  and  the  weaker, 
who  feared  to  grapple  with  the  stout  warriors, 
alone  pursued  him.  But  now  a  party  rushed 
towards  him,  and  in  an  instant  the  fainting  youth 
sunk  beneath,  their  blows.  It  was  at  the  moment 
that  Le  Loup  approached  the  creek.  His  eye 
rested  upon  the  novice  as  he  fell  among  his  tor- 
mentors, and  he  dashed  through  their  midst  draw- 
ing them  after  him  in  the  race.  Rene  Bourdoise 
arose — the  Indians  were  already  in  another  por- 
tion of  the  field,  and  he^r^passed  the  stream,  and, 
painfully  toiling  up  the  hill,  touched  the  war- 
post.  At  length  the  chase  began  to  flag,  and  Le 
Loup,  having  succeeded  in  doubling  on  his  pur- 
suers, leaped  up  the  hill  to  the  goal.  The  last 
Uuron  soon  came  in. 

The  overthrown  squaws,  bruised  and  beaten, 
gathered  round  the  group  of  captives,  and  with 
loud  imprecations  menaced  the  cause  of  their 
misfortunes  with  the  vengeance  of  the  tribe. 

"Ahl^^  said  one,  "  wait,  when  the  Huron  is 


^-T!T^ 


/  '  !  1 


THE  RETURN, 


■ 


4  . 


107 


bound  to  the  post  and  the  flames  are  kindled 
around  him^  we  will  torture  the  dog  till  he 
screams  with  pain." 

"Yes,  the  Mohawk  women  will  make  the 
Huron  warrior  yell  with  the  torment,"  and  the 
fiends  shouted  in  anticipation  of  the  sacrifice. 
Le  Loup  looked  calmly  on  and  smiled. 

The  prisoners  were  again  bound,  and,  the  cer- 
emonies attendant  upon  the  return  of  the  war- 
party  having  been  gone  through,  were  placed 
under  a  guard  in  the  council-lodge,  while  the 
warriors  dispersed  through  the  village,  each  with 
his  band  of  friends  and  admirers.  A  portion  of 
the  war-party  belonged  to  another  village ;  these 
were  entertained  with  dances  and  feasting  until 
towards  evening,  when  they  took  their  departure 
for  their  own  homes,  contrary  to  their  usual  cus- 
tom, leaving  the  prisoners  at  the  first  village  to 
be  disposed  of  by  a  joint  council  at  some  future 
day.     , 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


1 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 

[HE  forest  to  the  north  of  the  village  was 
filled  with  undergrowth,  and  was  wild 
and  rocky,  rising  at  times  into  hills  of 
considerable  size,  which  swept  gradually  down 
until  they  melted  in  the  gentle  ascent  ypon  which 
the  Mohawk  village  stood.  Towards  the  close  of 
the  day  which  had  been  signalized  by  the  return 
of  the  war-party,  a  solitary  Indian  cautiously 
made  his  way  through  the  thick  bushes,  replacing 
every  leaf  and  branch  in  its  position,  and  cover- 
ing each  footstep  as  he  passed^  His  course  was 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  wildest  of  the  hills. 
As  he  proceeded,  the  ground  became  more  broken 
and  rocky  until  a  huge  ledge  rose  abruptly  in  the 
forest,  jutting  almost  over  the  summits  of  the 

oaks.    At  the  foot  of  the  cliff  he  paused  for  a 

108  ^ 


i 


J 


!-' < 


BAPTISM  IN  BOND  AG  JS. 


109 


moment^  and  surveyed  the  face  and  Bumnxit  of 
the  roQk.  He  seemed  satisfied,  and  moved  along 
the  base  of  the  ledge  until  he  reached  a  part  that 
was  less  precipitous,  and  was  covered  with  bushes 
and  creepers  growing  out  of  the  many  crevicee 
and  spots  of  earth  upon  its  sides.  Here  ht 
paused  for  a  moment,  and,  having  made  a  lo\i 
signal,  which  was  answered  from  above,  began  tt* 
ascend.  A  little  distance  from  the  summit,  the 
rock  receded  until  it  opened  into  something  likr 
a  cave,  which  was  completely  hidden  from  belo'w 
by  the  bushes  and  wild  vines  in  bloom,  which 
here  clust^ed  thick  upon  the  side  of  the  ascent 
At  the  farther  end  of  the  recess  sat  two  figures, 
silent  and  motionless;  their  rifles*  were  lying 
near  them.  The  Indian  entered  and  took  his 
seat  by  his  companions;  at  length  he  spoke, 
pointing  with  his  hand  over  his  shoulder  towards 
the  village. 

"  The  Hurons  and  the  blackgown  are  in  the 

.*  This  term  has  been  used  throughout  this  story;  per- 
haps musket  would  have  been  more  correct,  though  at  the 
date  of  the  story  few  Indians  were  possessed  of  fire-arms  at 
all.     The  Mohawl^s  obtained  them~  at  an  earlier  period 
haying  been  supplied  by  the  Dutch  traders. 
10  . 


iHViPpHHm 


T 


110 


BAPTISM  IN   BONDAGE. 


ft' 


oouncil-lodge.  No  more  gauntlet;  the  warriors 
from  the  other  villages  have  gone/'  he  said^  and 
held  up  the  fingers  of  both  hands  twice  to  indi- 
cate their  number.  "So  many  braves  at  the 
village/'  and  he  again  held  up  his  fingers  till 
they  indicated  forty ;  "  must  wait."  The  Hurons 
assented,  and  Ahasistari- continued:  "The  black- 
gown  is  weak  and  bruised ;  many  days  must  pass 
before  he  can  travel  again  to  the  river.  The 
Hurons  must  tarry  till  they  can  go  as  fast  as  the 
Mohawk,  or  the  foe  will  gather  from  the  tribes 
and  follow  on  the  trail." 

At  length  one  of  the  Hurons  spoke :  "  Watook 
may  collect  the  braves/ and  be  here  in  another 


>} 


sun. 

**  Quickfoot/'  said  Ahasistari,  "it  is  better  that 
he  should  lie  out  with  the  warriors  some  distance 
in  the  forest.  There  is  a  little  stream  a  day's 
journey  from  the  village  of  the  Mohawks;  we 
crossed  it  on  the  ti-ail.  Let  him  hide  upon  its 
banks.  If  he  come  nearer,  a  wandering  Mohawk 
might  strike  upon  his  trail,  and  then  all  hope 
will  be  lost.  We  cannot  attempt  a  rescue  until 
the  blackgowns  are  strong  enough  to  journ^ 


■     J. 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


Ill 


\        T 
I      ' 


1 


/' 


with  us.  Watook  and  his  braves  will  follow  the 
trail  of  the  Mohawks ;  Quickfoot  must  Vetrace  it, 
and  meet  him.  He  will  bid  him  to  remain  until 
Ahasistari  commands  again." 

^^  Go(Hi,"  said  the  Huron,  and,  taking  up  his 
rifle,  wearied  as  he  was,  with  the  elastic  tread  of 
the  brave,  departed.     The  others  sat  still. 

Ahasistari  and  his  two  followers  had  hovered 
around  the  trail  of  the  Mohawks,  but  as  the  foe 
was  very  numerous — about  fifty  warriors  in  all — 
had  not  obtained  a  single  opportunity  of  attempt* 
ing  the  rescue  of  the  prisoners  by  artifice;  of 
course  force  was  out  of  the  question.  It  now 
became  necessary  for  the  chief  to  delay  his  opera- 
tions for  the  reasons  which  he  gave  his  followers, 
and  also  in  the  hope  that  the  number  of  the  war- 
riors at  the  village  might  be  reduced  by  some 
new  expedition,  and  thus  afford  a  favorable 
opportunity  of  making  an  assault,  with  what- 
ever braves  Watook  might  bring  up,  to  whom 
he  could  at  any  time  transmit  his  orders  by  his 
remaining  companion.  In  the  meantime,  too, 
some  chance  of  a  successful  stratagem  might  pre- 
sent itself,  and  he  determined  to  watch  the  vil- 


•/^ 


l^'t^lW 


IP" 


mmfim^^mmmm 


ma 


mmm 


112 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE, 


lage  closely  to  secure  if  possible  the  escape  of  his 
friends. 

•  When  the  Mohawks  had  approached  the  end 
of  their  journey,  the  Hurons  forsook  their  trail^ 
aiid  struck  oflF  through  the  forest  to  the  hills, 
among  which  they  were  now  concealed,  having 
perceived  them  on  their  path  fr<Hn  the  summit  of 
a  distant  elevation.  The  track  of  a  fox  led  them 
up  the  ledge  of  rocks  to  the  cave,  and  at  the  same 
time  gave  them  the  assurance  that  it  was  alto- 
gcfther  unfrequented  bv  their  foes.  Leaving  his 
companions,  Ahasistari  then  crept  stealthily  to- 
wards the  village,  and  reached  it  in  time  to  be  a 
witn^  from  a  neighboring  thicket  of  all  the 
sctoes  which  followed  upon  the  arrival  of  the 
war-party,  and  teamed  from  a  single  glance  the 
condition  of  the  ciiptives.  His  plans  were  formed, 
and  he  returned  to  the  rocks  to  carry  them  out. 
With  twenty  good  braves  he  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  attack  the  village,  knowing  the  vast 
advantage  which  darkness  and  surprise  give  to 
even  m  few  assailants  over  a  larger  number, 
mingled  with  women  and  children,  and  unpre^ 
psyred  for  battle^    The  village^  too,  was  not  de^ 


s- 


A::' 


'P? 


MP 


wmwm 


mm^ 


m 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


118 


a.^ 


-> 


fended  b^  any  stockade  or  fortification,  for  such 
was  the  terror  of  the  Mohawk  name  that  few  of 
their  enemies  dared  to.  set  foot  upon  their  territory. 
But  Ahasistari  deemed  it  more  prudent  to  post* 
pone  the  attempt,  judging,  from  the  departure  of 
the  braves  of  the  neighboring  village  without 
carrying  with  them  a  portion  of  the  prisoners, 
that  for  the  present  they  were  in  no  danger  of 
public  executipn.  Such,  however,  he  knew  to 
be  the  passionate  cruelty  of  the  Iroquois  that  any 
one  of  them  might  be  sacrificed  at  a  moment. 
This  danger  could  not  be  avoided. 

The  night  that  followed  was  a  festive  one  in 
the  village  of  the  Mohawks.  Long  continued 
were  the  rejoicings  of  the  people  over  the  valor 
of  the  braves,  and  it  was  determined  in-  council 
to  dispatch  runners  to  Fort  Orange  with  a  portion 
of  the  booty,  which  had  been  large,  to  procure 
"fire-water"  from  the  traderb  for  a  solemn  fes- 
tival over  the  victory.  In  the  midst  of  all  this 
joy,  many  sleepless  hours  had  passed  over  the 
heads  of  the  two  Frenchmen.  Sore,  bruised, 
suffering  intense  pain,  unable  to  lie  at  ease,  sl^m- 

ber  long  delayed  to  shroud  their  wearinesfi  in 
10*  H 


x 


^ 


mi'inwuini 


X14 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAOt!. 


oblivion.  At  length  it  came.  The  Hurons, 
after  the  prayers  of  the  night  had  been  said,  soon 
yielded  to  sleep,  accustomed  as  they  were  to  catch 
repose  in  any  attitude.  Day  broke  gayly  over 
the  village,  and  the  rays  of  the  bright  sun  stole 
in  through  the  chinks  of  the  council-lodge,  and 
rested  in  golden  streaks  upon  the  hard-trodden 
earthen  floor.  As  the  luminary  rose  higher  in 
the  sky,  a  beam,  playing  through  a  narrow  cre- 
vice, crept  slowly  over  the  pale  face  of  the  young 
novice.  His  lips  w^re  drawn  apart,  a  fixed  ex- 
pression of  pain  dwelt  upon  his  features,  and  his 
heavy  and  disturbed  breathing  denoted  the  fever 
that  raged  in  his  veins.  He  slept  on ;  the  joyous 
ray  playing  upon  his  sad  features,  myriads  of 
motes  holding  their  gay  revels  in  its  beams. 
Near  him  slumbered  Father  Laval.  The  Hu- 
rons  were  stretched  around  upon  the  floor  in 
deep  sleep.  At  the  door  of  the  lodge  sat  the 
guard,  his  head  resting  upon  his  knee,  and  his 
quick  eye  occasionally  scanning  the  slumberers ; 
but  for  its  motion  he  would  have  seemed  as  rapt 
in  sleep  as  they.  Time  pasged  on ;  the  sounds 
without  told  that  the  village  was  again  all  alive^ 


%*- 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


lib 


and  one  by  one  the  Hurons  awoke  from  their 
long  repose,  and,  stretching  their  cramped  limbs 
as  best  they  might,  arose  to  a  sitting  posture. 
A  single  glance  of  his  eye  was  all  the  notice  the 
guard  deigned  to  bestow  upon  their  movements. 
The  two  Frenchmen  still  slept  on.  At  length 
^  Father  Laval  awoke.  For  a  moment  he  gazed 
around  unable  to  realize  his  situation ;  then  turn- 
ing himself,  he  endeavored  to  kneel ;  the  effort 
w«8  painful,  but  he  succeeded.  Rene  Bourdoise 
now  opened  his  eyes,  but  he  was  unable  to  move. 
"  Do  not  seek  to  rise,  my  son,"  said  the  Jesuit, 
"you  are  too  weak;  the  prayer  of  the  heart  is 
acceptable  to  God,  whether  you  kneel  or  not.'' 
Then  Father  Laval  addressed  the  Hurons :  "  My 
children,  from  the  midst  of  our  sufferings  let  us 
cry  out  to  heaven  for  mercy,  not  for  the  bodies 
which  are  of  earth  and  perishable,  but  for  the 
souls  which  are  immortal,  undying.  Let  us  be- 
seech our  heavenly  Father  to  accept  our  sufferings 
here  in  atonement  through  the  Tblood  of  his  Son 
for  the  sins  of  our  past  lives.  L<et  us  not  repine, 
We  suffer — 'it  is  for  the  greater  glory  of  God.' 
He  will  draw  good  for  us  out  of  this  evil.     Let 


■■iniiini 


116 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


US  pray ;  let  us  join  in  spirit  with  our  brethren 
of  the  mission  of  .St.  Mary  in  the  Jioly  sacrifice 
of  the  altar/'  ,, 

The  Indians  listened  in  silence,  and  the  Jesuit 
prayed  aloud.  Many  moments  passed  thus  in 
holy  prayer  and  meditation.  Streams  of  heavenly 
consolation  seemed  to  pour  down  upon,  the  priest 
and  his  little  flock.  Rapt  in  holy  abstraction, 
iheir  sufferings  were  all  forgotten ;'  and,  seated  in 
heart  at  the  foot  of  the  Saviour's  cross,  their  own 
Sorrows  dwindled  into  nothingness  in  the  con- 
templation of  his  infinite  passion.  Then  the  stern 
spirit  of  the  Hurons  melted,  and  the  enduring 
warrior  became  the  contrite  penitent. 

"The  anger  of  the  Iroquois  is  unsparing,  my 
father.  Death  may  be  ours  at  any  moment," 
said  Le  Loup,  as  the  consoling  prayer  was  ended. 

"True,  my  son;  let  us  prepare  to  meet  it;'^ 
and  the  Indian,  moving  nearer  to  the  priest,  began 
his  confession.  It  was  done ;  and  the  Jesuit  pro- 
nounced the  words  of  absolution  in  virtue  of  that 
power  committed  by  Christ  to  his  church,"  Whose 
sins  ye  shall  forgive,  they  are  forgiven.'' 

"Gro  in  peace  l"  said  the  priest,  and  another 


U 


f 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


117 


V  .. 


and  another  came.  Often  before  had  these  Chris- 
tian savages^  in  their  unsophisticated  nature^  made 
public  confession  of  their  faults,  seeking  to  hum- 
ble themselves  before  heaven  and  earth,  and  thus 
to  show  the  sincerity  of  their  repentance  and  to 
do  penance  by  mortifying  their  pride  and  self- 
love  :  now  therefore  they  did  not  heed  the  presence 
of  their  brethren.  Two.  there  were  who  were  yet 
unbaptized,  two  neophytes  longing  for  the  redeem* 
ing  waters  of  the  purifying  sacrament.  In  turn 
they  knelt  and  confessed  themselves,  and  besought 
baptism.  Alas!  the  good  priest,  bound  hand 
and  foot,  without  a  drop  of  water,  was  unable  to 
administer  the  sacred  rite. 

The  pious  occupation  of  the  prisoners  was  at 
length  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  warrior, 
who  was  soon  followed  by  another.  It  was  not 
long  before  a  number  had  gathered  in  the  lodge. 
One  of  the  Mohawks,  at  length,  approached  the 
Jesuit,  and  loosed  the  cords  that  bound  him ;  then 
he  released  the  ydung  novice.  Father  Laval  sat 
still  for  some  moments,  endeavoring  to  overcome 
the  stiflFness  of  his  limbs.  Whilst  he  remained  in 
this  position^  an  Indian  entered  the  lodge,  bearing 


/ 


mmmmmmmmmmitm 


mm 


'■ 


118 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


in  his  hand  an  ear  of  corn  upon  the  stock,  which 
he  had  just  plucked ;  he  ihrew  it  to  the  Jesuit. 
The  sunlight  played  upon  it  as  it  lay — and  see  ! 
upon  its  silken  beard  and  broad  blade  clung  little 
drops  of  dew* — sparkling  and  glistening,  like 
jewels  in  the  light !  Ah !  far  more  precious  at  that 
moment  than  all  the  diamonds  of  Golconda !  — 
There  was  enough  to  baptize  the  two  captive 
Hurons.  Taking  it  up  carefully,  he  arose,  zeal 
and  joy  overcoming  pain  and  weakness,  and 
knelt  above  the  prostrate  neophytes. 

"  O  my  children,  the  hiand  of  the  ever  merciful 
is  with  us.  Kneel — kneel  I "  and  in  the  wild  forest 
lodge,  made  holy  as  God's  temple  by  the  prayers 
and  sufferings  of  his  faithful  children,  with  the 
Christian  Huron  and  wild  Mohawk  looking  on, 
without  sponsor,  with  no  lights  but  God's  own 
sunlight,  with  no  incense  but  the  ineffably  sweet 
incense  of  humble  prayer,  before  the  altar  of  the 
heart,  the  priest  admitted  the  rejoicing  neophytes 
into  the  fold  of  Christ,  into  the  household  of 

*  This  incident  is  related  of  Father  Isaac  Jones,  while  a 
captive  amoug  the  Mohawks,  by  Bancroft,  almost  in  the 
words  used  above.    Bee  Bancroft^  vol.  iii.  p.  188.         n  ^ 


■•"'(- 


i 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE, 


119 


faith,  sprinkling  the  pure  dew  of  heaven  upon 
their  uplifted  brows.  Wondrously  solemu  w£^s 
that  simple  baptism  in  the  wilderness ;  in  the  midst 
of  trials  and  sufferings,  in  the  face  of  death.  K^o 
swelling  organ  arose  over  the  sacrament ;  no  swing- 
ing bell  pealed  out ;  no  white  robe  upon  the  neo- 
phyte, but  the  stainless  one  of  purity  of  heart ; 
no  vestment  on  the  priest  but  the  martyr's,  stained 
with  blood. 

"Come  sorrow;  come  death,"  exclaimed  the 
Jesuit ;  "  I  will  heed  them  not,  O  God  !  for  of 
thy  mercy  there  is  no  end.'' 

Scarcely  had  he  finished  before  an  Indian  sum- 
moned him  to  follow  him.  Father  Laval  left  the 
lodge.  A  group  of  boys  were  gathered  before  the 
door,  and  watched  the  priest  with  interest  as  he 
passed  through  them,  but  did  not  molest  him. 
His  conductor,  crossing  the  .open  space  around  the 
lodge,  turned  his  steps  towards  a  tent  at  the  end 
of  the  village  near  the  forest.  This  rude  dwelling 
of  the  savage  was  constructed  of  poles  sunk  in  the 
ground,  in  a  circle,  with  their  tops  bent  to  a  com- 
mon point  and  fastened  together.  Over  this 
frame  was  stretched  a  canopy  of  buffalo  skins, 


wmm 


t    . 


120 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


II 


stitched  together  with  thread  made  of  the  tendona 
of  the  deer.  It  was  large  and  commodious,  and 
betokened  the  wealth  and  standing  of  its  owner. 
In  front,  the  two  ends  of  the  covering  hung  apart, 
leaving  a  space  for  entrance,  which  was  usually 
closed  up  by  a  single  buffalo  robe  suspended  from 
a  cross  piece  above.  This  was,  of  course,  raised 
to  admit  light  and  air.  The  tent  was  of  far  betr 
ter  order  than  the  lodges  around  it,  which  were 
rude  huts  covered  with  bark.  The  Indian  mo- 
tioned Father  Laval  to  enter.  Lying  on  a  couch 
of  skins,  thjB  Jesuit  beheld  the  young  chief  whose 
wounds  he  had  bound  up  on  the  fietd  of  battle. 
An  old  man  sat  near  him ;  it  was  the  father  of 
Kiskepila,  and  the  chief  of  the  village.  The  priest 
approached  the  couch  of  the  wounded  man  to 
feel  his  pulse,  but  the  old  man  waved  him  away 
with  a  motion  of  his  hand. 

"Pale-face!"  he  said  in  the  Huron  tongue, 
"you  are  the  foe  of  the  Mohawks,  and  yet  you 
sought  to  heal  the  wounds  of  Kiskepila." 

"  I  am  the  foe  of  no  people,"  replied  the  Jesuit, 
meekly ;  "  my  mission  is  to  save,  not  to  destroy." 

"  Thou  art  the  friend  of  the  Huron?"  said  the 
old  man  interrogatively. 


\ 


m 


I 


SAPTT8M  IN  BONDAGE. 


121 


IF 


."Dost  thou  see  the  sun?"  said  the  priest. 
"  The  God  who  created  it  made  it  to  shine  alike 
upon  the  Huron  and  the  Mohawk.  Its  beams 
ripen  the  corn  in  the  country  of  the  Iroquois,  and 
in  the  lands  beyond  the  great  lakes.  Will  the 
Mohawk  veil  his  eyes  to  the  sunlight  because  its 
rays  shine  upon  the  Huron  too?"  The  Indian 
was  silent,  and  the  Jesuit  continued: 

"  The  Great  Spirit  loves  all  his  children,  the 
Mohawk  and  the  Huron ;  will  the  wise  and  brave 
Mohawk  shut  his  ears  to  the  words  of  the  Great 
Spirit  because  the  Huron  has  already  heard 
them?"     " 

"Pale-face,  the  Mohawk  listens  to  the  voice 
of  Owaneeyo ;  he  hears  it  in  the  forest,  and  in 
the  waters,  and  in  the  winds  I" 

"  The  Great  Spirit  has  taught  us,  sachem,  to 
love  those  who  hateus — to  love  all  men  —  to  let 
our  hearts  shine  on  all  like  the  sun  of  heaven  I " 

"  Hugh  !  "  exclaimed  the  Mohawk,  "  does  the 

pale-face  speak  with   a   forked  tongue?     The 

Iroquois  strikes  his  enemy,  and  it  is  good!''  and 

he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 

Father  Laval  paused  for  a   moment  ere  ha 
11  - 


npi^i 


122 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


answered  this  appeal  to  the  natural  passions  of 
man  as  an  arg»""nent  against  the  truth  of  the 
Christian  doctrine^  and  then,  pointing  to  the 
wounded  man,  said :  ^'  Kiskepila  sought  the  life 
of  the  pale-face  — '' 

"  And  the  pale-face  saved  the  life  of  Kiskepila," 
interrupted  the  young  brave  in  a  tone  of  deep 
feeling.  "  The  words  of  the  blackgown  are  true. 
T*^e  wolf  kills  the  deer,  the  bear  the  buffalo,  the 
hawk  the  dove,  and  the  Mohawk  his  wounded 
foe.  It  is  only  the  pale-face — the  blackgown  — 
that  binds  up  the  wounds  of  his  enemy.  His 
heart  is  gentle  as  the  summer  breeze ! " 

Silence  ensued,  for  the  Indian  scarcely  knew 
how  to  receive  and  estimate  the  wonderful  mag- 
nanimity of  Christianity.  Nature  taught  him 
to  do  good  for  ^ood ;  to  return  good  for  evil  was 
a  new  thought  to  him,  yet  it  awoke  a  slumbering 
chord  of  the  heart ;  he  began  to  feel  the  sublim- 
ity of  the  precept,  and  was  silent.  At  this  point 
of  the  conversation  a  squaw  entered  the  lodge, 
bearing  several  ears  of  young  corn,  and  a  quan- 
tity of  beans  which  had  been  roasted  at  a  fire 
without,  and  placed  them  on  a  mat  upon  the 
floor. 


\ " 


.'  r 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


123 


.1 


"Eat!"  said  the  chief.  Father  Laval  ap- 
proached, and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
blessed  the  simple  provisions  which  had  been  - 
offered  to  him,  and  then  proceeded  to  satisfy  his 
&mished  appetite.  Hitherto  he  had  been  fur- 
nished with  barely  enough  food  to  support  his 
.  strength,  for  it  was  a  common  mode  of  torture 
among  the  Indians  to  make  their  prisoners  pass 
days  and  nights  together  with  barely  enough 
food  to  sustain  life,  and  yet  inflict  an  incredible 
amount  of  suffering.  Yet  he  ate  moderately.  A 
gourd  of  water  was  placed  beside  him  —  he  had 
not  slaked  his  thirst  for  many  hours  —  it  was 
grateful  to  his  burning  lips.  Having  returned 
thanks  to  God,  he  arose  and  approached  the 
couch.  The  chief  again  spoke :  "  The  pale>&ce 
miade  a  sign  upon  his  forehead  ?" 

"  It  was  the  sign  of  the  cross,"  replied  the 
Jesuit. 

The  chief  nodded  his  head  afiirmatively.  "  I 
thank  the  Great  Spirit  for  his  gifts." 

Then  the  Jesuit  began  to  examine  the  wounds 
of  Kiskepila,  and  to  bind  them  anew,  all  the 
whUe  explaining  the  meaning  of  the  holy  sym- 


mm 


124 


BAPTISM  IN  BONVAOE. 


'\- 


bol  which  he  had  used ;  howGod  had  sent  his 
Son  on  earth  after  the  sin  of  our  first  parents, 
and  how  his  chosen  people  had  scourged  and  put 
him  to  death  upon  the  cross,  and  how,  ever  since 
then,  his  followers  had  used  that  sigu  to  recall  to 
their  minds  the  recollection  of  his  agony  and 
death. 

"  Ugh !  Dogs ! "  exclaimed  Kiskepila,  as  he 
shook  his  clenched  fist.  The  old  chief  listened 
with  a  look  of  incredulity. 

While  the  priest  was  speaking,  a  figure  glided 
softly  in  at  the  opening  of  the  tent,  and  crouched 
silently  in  an  obscure  comer  with  the  females  of 
the  family.  Morning  Flower  listened:  she  could 
understand  but  little,  for  he  spoke  in  the  Huron 
dialect.  In  astonishment,  she  gazed  upon  him 
as  he  tenderly  bound  up  the  wounds  of  her 
lover.  The  passion  of  the  previous  evening  had 
subsided,  and  she  remembered  with  a  sorrowing 
heart  that  she  had  tortured  him  in  the  gauntlet. 
Hers  was  a  gentle  spirit  in  spite  of  its  wild  edu- 
cation. She  arose,  approached  the  priest,  and 
looked  .  n  in  the  face;  at  the  same  moment  the 
young  warrior,  pointing  to  the  Jesuit,  said : 


-  • 


/s: 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


125 


"Morning  Flower,  the  blackrobe  saved'  the 
life  of  Kiskepila  when  the  Young  Eagle  had 
slain  his  people  —  the  Hurons.'^ 

Then  the  heart  of  the  woman  was  true,  and, 
in  spite  of  early  habits  and  barbarous  training, 
beat  there  as  nature  made  it.  A  gush  of  remorse 
filled  her  soulj  and  with  a  low  wild  cry  she  broke 
away  from  the  tent.  The  two  Mohawks  looked 
at  each  other  in  astonishment,  unable  to  compre- 
hend the  cause  of  so  singular  an  exhibition  of 
feeling;  land  the  elder  exclaimed  in  low  tone, 
"Hugh!  Medicine!"  and  shook  his  head,  at- 
tributing the  action  of  tue  girl  to  some  species 
of  enchantment  on  the  part  of  the  priest.  But 
Father  Laval  well  understood  it :  he  recognized 
the  maiden  who  had  so  relentlessly  pursued  him 
whilst  running  the  gauntlet;  yet  he  continued 
the  conversation,  without  heeding  the  circum- 
stance further.  « 
V  At  length  the  Jesuit  returned  to  the  council-^ 
lodge,  where  he  busied  himself  in  ministering  to 
the  wounded  Hurons.  Rene  Bourdoise,  released 
from  the  tight  bonds  which  had  been  so  painful, 
began  to  recover  a  little  from  the  weakness  that 
11* 


i^mmmmmmm 


m 


126 


BAPTISM  IN  BOITBAQS. 


had  rendered  him  helpless.  With  a  tottering 
step  he  descended  to  the  stream^  and  washed  the 
blood  from  his  face  and  hands,  and  laved  his 
swollen  feet.  The  cool  water  refreshed  and 
strengthened  him,  calming  the  fever  of  his  veins. 
He  found  a  gourd  upon  the  bank,  and  filling  it, 
bore  it  to  the  famished  prisoners  at  the  lodge. 
The  Jesuit  assisted  the  novice,  unheeded  by  the 
Mohawks,  who  listlessly  reclined  on  the  grass, 
occasionally  casting  a  glance  upon  the  prisoners, 
to  see  that  no  attempt  was  made  to  loosen  their 
boi^ds. 

Towards  evening  the  Jesuit  again  entered  the 
tent  of  Kiodego,  Kiskepila  was  resting  in  a 
half  recumbent  position,  supported  by  a  pile  of 
furs  that  a  king  might  have  envied.  Many  days 
had  passed  since  his  wounds  had  been  received, 
for  the  march  was  lono-  and  tedious,  and  he  was 
now  recruiting  his  strength.  Father  Laval  again 
felt  his  pulse,  for  he  feared  lest  the  fatigue  of  a 
long  journey,  upon  a  rough  litter,  might  bring  on 
a  fever  which  would  prove  fatal ;  but  a  skilful 
preparation  of  draughts  from  herbs  and  roots 
had  prevented  it :  the  stroke  was  still  calm  and 


•& 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE, 


127 


m  I 


- 


regular.  Then  lio  entered  into  conversation  with 
the  young  brave,  using,  as  much  as  possible,  the 
Mohawk  tongue,  earnestly  seeking  to  become 
familiar  with  it  for  "  the  greater  glory  of  God." 
In  the  tedious  and  painful  route  he  had  caught  > 
knowledge  of  it  from  his  captors,  and  its  affinity 
with  the  Huron  tongue,  which  he  spoke  with 
eas^  and  fluency,  enabled  him  to  make  rapid 
progress.  The  young  warrior  listened  to  him 
patiently,  but  as  soon  as  he  paused,  addressed 
him: 

"  Blackgown,  you  have  taught  me  that  the 
pale-face  loves  all,  and  forgives  those  who  have 
injured  him.  Morning  Flower,"  —  and  the 
young  maiden,  springing  up  from  a  group  of 
females  in  the  farther  part  of  the  tent,  ap- 
proached and  stood  beside  the  priest,  —  "  Morn- 
ing Flower,  when  the  blood  of  Kiskepila  was 
flowing  from  his  veins,  and  his  heart  was  grow- 
ing cold,  the  hand  of  the  pale-face  stopped  its 
flow.  Blackgown,  Morning  Flower  is  the  des- 
tined bride  of  Kiskepila." 

The  priest  placed  his  hands  upon  the  head  of 
the  young  girl,  and  then,  raising  them  up  to 


♦  * 


■IB 


12^ 


'BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


heaven,  uttered  a  prater  for  the  wild  but  gentle 
spirit  before  him.  "  O  God,  grant  that  the  light 
of  thy  faith  may  pierce  the  heart  of  this  untutored 
girl,  and  of  all  here.  Mary,  mother  of  the  sor- 
rowful, bring  these  wanderers  to  the  faith  of  thy 
Son  by  the  powerful  intercession  of  thy  pray- 
ers." And  he  added,  in  the  Mohawk  tongue, 
"Daughter,  peace  be  with  thee." 

Then  Father  Laval  began  to  discourse  again 
upon  the  subject  of  his  morning's  conversation, 
speaking  in  the  Mohawk  dialect  as  well  as  he, 
could.  Kiskepila  listened  attentively,  and  the 
maiden,  seated  at  her  lover's  feet,  gathered  every 
word  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  priest.  ,-; 

When  -  the  Jesuit  had  departed,  the  young 
warrior  conversed  with  Morning  Flower  upon 
the  discourse  which  they  had  heard,  explaining 
such  portions  as  had  been  uttered  in  the  Huron 
dialect,  and  wondering  over  that  which  was 
mysterious  and  difficult,  for  it  is  hard  to  express 
abstract  ideas  in  the  Indian  language.  TJie 
kindness  and  attention  of  the  missionary  had 
won  the  heart  of  the  young  Iroquois,  and,  find- 
ing that  he  acted  out  in  his  own  life  what  he 


1 


^ 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


129 


«> 


.^ 


taught  to  others,  under  the  impulse  of  a  grateful 
feeling,  he  lent  a  willing  ear  to  his  words.  Kis- 
kepila  had  a  clear  head,  and  the  very  fact  that 
tlie  Jesuit  faced  so  many  dangers,  and  endured 
so  much  toil  and  suffering,  to  preach  the  doc- 
trines of  his  religion,  satisfied  him  at  once  of  the 
uprightness  and  sincerity  of  his  motives.  The 
skill  and  knowledge  of  the  Frenchman  proved 
to  him  that  he  was  no  ordinary  man,  and  he  in- 
clined to  believe  even  the  wonderful  tidings  he 
announced.  Yet  doubts  met  him  at  every  point 
as  he  thaught  over  the  strange  things  he  had 
been  told.  When,  therefore,  the  Jesuit  entered 
the  tent  on  the  following  day,  he  questioned  him : 

"Blackgown,  you  tell  me  that  the  Saviour 
died  and  was  buried,  and  that  on  the  third  day 
he  arose  again  from  the  dead.  I  have  never 
seen  the  dead  arise — how  can  I  believe  it?'' 

"  My  son,  it  would  have  been  no  proof  of  his 
divinity  if  rising  from  the  dead  had  been  an  ordi- 
nary occurrence.  But  he  is  God.  He  it  was 
who  made  the  law  that  all  men  should  die,  and 
that  law  he  could  suspend  or  alter.    Aa  man  he 

died ;  as  God-man  he  arose.    The  people  of  thy 

I 


\ 


ip^i 


180 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


t^ibe  believe  that  the  spirits  of  the  departed  do 
not  die ;  can  not  the  God  who  preserves  the  spirit 
preserve  also  the  body,  and  give  it  back  to  life  ? 
dan  he  not  at  a  word  bid  the  tomb  to  open,  and 
the  lifeless  corpse  to  live  and  breathe  again  ?  Ah, 
my  son  1  there  are  no  laws  to  bind  the  Omnipo- 
tent God  but  the  laws  of  his  own  mercy  and 
justice  and  eternal  providence.  He  has  been 
pleased  to  listen  to  the  prayer  of  his  humble 
followers  upon  this  earth,  and  has  for  them 
wrought  miracles  almost  equally  wonderful. 
The  Blessed  Xavier,  on  the  shore  of  the  far  east, 
knelt  and  prayed,  and  the  ear  of  the  Almighty 
was  inclined  towards  him,  and  when  the  holy 
priest  stretched  forth  his  hand,  and  called  upon 
the  dead  to  come  forth  from  his  silent  grave,  the 
lifeless  sprung  up  into  strength  and  health  and 
beauty.'' 

A  deep  exclamation  of  surprise  broke  from  the 
lips  of  the  attentive  Indian,  whilst  the  women  of 
the  family  gathered  nearer  to  hear  the  words  of 
the  animated  speaker.  Warmed  with  a  holy 
jEealy  the  Jesuit  continued  in  a  clear  firm 
voioe:  .  


4^ 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAOS. 


181 


^5*"' 


''The  resurrection  of  the  Saviour  from  the 
dead  was  to  be  the  final  seal  of  salvation ;  it  was 
to  open  the  way  for  us  from  the  tomb  to  heaven  I " 

Then  Father  Laval  went  on  to  tell  how,  ag^ 
before  his  coming,  the  mode  of  his  birth,  his  suf- 
fering, the  miracles  which  he  was  to  perform,  his 
passion  and  his  death  had  been  foretold,  and  how 
exactly  they  had  been  accomplished ; ,  and  he 
summed  up  all  the  evidences  of  Christianity, 
while  the  young  warrior  listened  attentively, 
often  bowing  his  head  in  token  of  assent. 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  true,"  he  said  at  length,  after 
the  Jesuit  had  concluded:  "Kiskepila  must 
believe." 

Thus  Father  Laval  sought  every  opportunity 
to  impress  upon  the  mind  of  the  young  warrior 
the  truths  of  Christianity,  and  the  relation  which 
existed  between  tKem  made  the  young  Iroquois 
listen  with  a  docility  unexampled  among  that 
fierce  race.  Whatever  the  young  man  learned 
he  wjEis  sure  to  communicate  to  Morning  Flowei", 
who  soon  began  to  seek  occasions  of  conversing 
with  the  priest,  and  listened  with  admiration  to 
his  accounts  of  the  splendor  of  the  dties  of  Frasioe^ 


mm* 


wm 


182 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


and  the  number  of  their  inhabitants,  things  like 
the  wonders  of  fainy  tales  to  her  unsophisticated 
imagination.  With  these  accounts  the  priest 
always  mingled  descriptions  of  the  splendid 
churches  and  of  the  gorgeous  ceremonial,  of  the 
sacred  rites  performed  within  them,  to  the  honor 
and  glory  of  God,  and  explained  them  to  the 
maiden  as  well  as  Le  could  in  his  imperfect  knowl- 
edge of  the  language.  Then,  leaving  these  sub-- 
jects,  he  would  converse  upon  the  moral  relations 
of  Christian  socieiy,  instruct  her  in  the  duties  of 
woman,  and  teach  her  the  obligations  of  religion, 
the  sanctity  of  marriage,  and  the  beauty  and 
holiness  of  purity  of  heart  and  body.  Morning 
Flower  drank  in  his  words,  and  kept  them  in  her 
heart.  Bijt  this  was  the  work  of  days.  In  the 
meanwhile  the  village  was  filled  with  various 
accounts  of  the  conversations  which  the  priest  had 
held  in  the  tent  of  Kiodego — how  he  had  spoken 
of  wonderful  and  mysterious  things,  and  how  he 
had  said  that  the  fathers  of  the  blaokgown,  in 
times  not  long  gone  by,  had  called  the  dead  f:om 
their  tombs.    These  reports,  increased  and  dib  • 

torled  a»  they  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  caai 

'    ..•■..  •>.  .,  ».   ..,.  ..  •....,.1 


. 


BAPTISM  IN  BONDAGE. 


138 


a  fipecies  of  awe  around  the  priest  in  the  eyes  of 

many:    He^  began  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  magi- 

cian  or  medicine  more  powerful  than  their  own. 

Yet,  unconscious  of  all  this,  the  humble  Jesuit 

pursued  his  labors  with  increasing  assiduity. 
12  -* 


V  ,.. . 


"— "WB^^^^WPPH^BUPPI 


-. 


CHAP  TEE  IX. 


THE    COUNCIL 


> 


EP^  night  Father  Laval  and  the  nov- 
ice had  been  bound  and  confined  with 
the  other  prisoners  in  the  lodge.  In  the 
meanwhile  Rene  Bourdoise  began  to  gain  strength, 
for  Morning  Flower,  compassionating  his  suffer- 
ings, extended  her  kindness  towards  him,  and 
supplied  him,  as  well  as  Father  Laval,  with  food; 
in  addition  to  that  distributed  by  their  captors. 
A  little  gentle  exercise,  and  hours  of  rest,  assisted 
nature  wonderfully  in  her  recuperative  efforts : 
but  although  the  two  Frenchmen  recruited  each 
day  i^  health,  they  were  still  subject  to  all  the 
petulant  cruelty  of  the  Iroquois.  Still  it  was 
only  that  common  torture  which  every  captive 

was  made  to  endure^  and  though  great  in  iteelf, 

184 


J 


I 


II 


p 


/^      ■  *  ■ 


'^ 


M 


r^ 


THE  COUNCIL. 


185 


\ 


dwindled  away  into  littleness  when  met  by  their 
boundless  patiisnce  and  tranquillity  of  heart. 

A  week  had  passed,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no 
disposition  on  the  part  of  the  Mohawk  warriors 
to  leave  their  village  even  upon  a  hunting  ex- 
pedition. It  was  the  corn  moon,  and  plenty  sur- 
rounded them  —  and  the  Indian  is  always  satis- 
fied if  the  present  moment  be  provided  for. 
They  were  awaiting  the  return  of  the  runners 
with  the  fire-water  from  Fort  Orange.  Towards 
the  evening  of  the  sixth  day  these  messengers 
came .  back  unexpectedly  to  the  village,  having 
met  a  Dutch  trader  some  days'  journey  from  the 
village,  and  purchased  from  him  the  necessary 
supply.  It  was  now  determined  by  the  braves 
tjiat  a  council  should  be  held  on  the  following 
day  to  decide  upon  the  fete  of  the  prisoners;  and 
a  portion  of  the  fire-water  was  set  aside  for  the 
carousings  which  would  follow  upon  such  a  pro?- 
ceeding.  A  runner  was  therefore  at  once  dis- 
pathed  to  the  village  which  had  joined  in  the 
war-party,  inviting  the  presence  of  a  deputation 
to  assist  at  the  council.  * 

Father  Laval,  who  had  already  retired  to  the 


/A 


IP 


i 


136 


TffJS   COUNCIL. 


council-lodge,  watched  these  proceedings  with  a 
troubled  eye;  he  saw  bustle  and  preparation,  but 
was  unable  to  conceive  its  object.  Le  Loup  sat 
coldly  watching  the  movements  of  the  Iroquois, 
knowing  too  well  what  was  likely  to  ensue.  The 
Jesuit  at  length  turned  i  ^  inquiring  eye  upon 
him,  and  questioned  him: 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  all  this  comlnotion,  my 
son?" 

"  jPtre-wafer  / ''  said  Le  Loup,  sententiously, 
"  The  runners  have  come  back  from  the  traders, 
and  the  Mohawk  will  be  crazy  to-night  —  he 
will  kill  if  he  can."  ' 

"If  he  can?— alas!  there  is  nothing  to  pre- 
vent him ;  then,  my  children,  we  must  look  upon 
death  as  immediately  before  us,  and  be  ready  to 
meet  him  like  Christian  men!" 

"  Good  ! "  said  Le  Loup  emphatically ;  "  but 
they  will  not  all  drink — they  will  cast  lots,  who 
shall  be  guard — may  kill,  though.  It  is  good  to 
be  ready  I "  ,       * 

At  length  the  council-lodge  was  closed  up  and 
fastened  firmly,  while  it  was  evident  to  the  pris- 
oners that  a  double  guard  was  placed  over  them. 


J,     -v 


•     J,     -v 


THE    COUNCIL. 


^ 


137 


to  protect  them  from  any  attempts  which  might 

be  made  against  them  by  the  intoxicated  Indians 

in  the  fury  of  their  orgies.     The  noise  without 

began  to  increase,  and  soon  became  uproarious. 

The  greater  portion  of  the  intoxicating  liquid 

had  been  carefully  concealed  in  order  that  it 

might  be  preserved  for  the  second  festival,  in 

pursuance  of  the  plan  adopted.    The  intoxica- 

tion   therefore,  of  the  braves,  scarcely  reached 

to  that  point  of  frenzy  when  the  whole  passion 

of  the  sa\rage  is  aroused  and  nothing  but  blood 

will  satisfy  him.     Yet  now  and  then  an  Indian, 

more  excited  than  the  rest,  would  approach  the 

lodge  with  reeling  step,  but  flashing  eye,  and 

endeavor  to  force  his  way  to  the  prisoners ;  but 

the  strong  guard,  at  the  entrance,  always  baffled 

their  attempts,  and  drove  oflP  the  assailants  with 

good-humored  blows  and  laughter.     As  the  arms 

of  the  drinkers  had  been  taken  from  them,  little 

danger  was  to.  be  apprehended,  unless  they  should 

succeed  in  obtaining  them  again.     Night  came 

on,  and  by  the  light  of  the  fires  the  revellers 

carried  on  their  orgies.     The  blaze  falling  on 

the  front  of  the  council-lodge,  cast  the  rear  and  the 
12  * 


m 


m 


188 


THE  COUNCIL. 


tents  behind  it  into  a  dark  shadow.  Most  of  the 
inhabitants  had  gathered  in  the  open  space,  and 
were  occupied  in  observing  the  mad  antics  of  the 
drunken  Indians.  At  length,  while  the  carousing 
was  at  its  height,  a  figure  slowly  emerged  from 
the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  keeping  in  the  darkest 
shadows,  outstretched  upon  the  ground,  coiled 
along  slowly  and  cautiously  towards  the-  lodge. 
There  it  rolled  up  close  beside  the  lower  logs  of 
the  rude  building,  and  even  to  a  searching  eye 
was  almost  indistinguishable  from  them.  Thus  it 
lay  for  some  time  motionless.  Le  Loup  had  just 
stretched  himself  upon  the  hard  floor,  when  he 
heard  a  low  sound  like  the  ticking  of  an  insect  in 
the  log  ^ear  his  head.  It  persevered  in  a  singular 
manner,  and  he  answered  it  with  a  like  sound. 

*'  Huron  ! "  said  a  voice  very  low,  but  perfectly 
distinct — reaching  no  other  ear  but  that  of  the 
prostrate  warrior. 

"Le  Loupl"  replied  the  other,  giving  his 
name. 

"<jrood!"  said  the  other  voice,  whidi  rtie 
Huron  recognized  as  that  of  Ahasistari. 

"Council  to-night?"  asked  the  chief  after  a 
pause. 


t^mmmmm 


THE  COUNCIL. 


189 


"  No ;  to-morrow !  '*  said  Le  liOup. 

"Is  the  blackgown  strong  enough  to  travel  to 
the  river?'' 

"  Yes !  but  the  Mohawk  is  quick  and  watchful," 
v  '^  Can  the  Huron  escape  from  the  lodge  with 
the  help  of  Ahasistari  ? '' 

. "  There  is  an  opening  above,  but  all  are  bound 
hand  and  foot." 

,,  "The  knife  of  Ahasistari  will  sever  the  cord" 
—a  silence  ensued,  during  which  the  chief  was 
busily  occupied  in  removing  a  block,  which  filled 
up  the  space  between  two  of  the  logs '—  "  let  I^e 
Loup  lay  close,  so  that  the  knife  may  cut  his 
cord,"  said  Ahasistari,  as  the  block  began  to ' 
yield  to  his  eflforts.  At  this  moment  two  braves 
of  the  gudird,  fearful  that  some  of  the  carousers 
might  endeavor  to  do  mischief  through  an  open- 
ing in  the  rear,  passed  around  the  lodge  to  exani- 
ine  it,  They  conversed  as  they  went  along,  and 
the  engrossing  topic  of  the  village  expectation 
filled  their  minds. 

"  The  pale-face  is  a  great  medicine,"  said  one ; 
"  the  braves  of  the  tribe  will  not  spare  him  in 
the  council  —  for  he  will  blight  the  coming  har- 
vest, and  cast  a  spell  on  the  hunting-grounds." 


V 


140 


TSE  COUNCIL. 


^. 


"The  big  Huron  will  be  tortured,"  said  the 
other. 

f '  Yes  1  no  one  will  adopt  them,  and  they  must 
be  tortured,  the  dogs  I " 

"The  council  will  decide  to-morrow — -Kiohba 
^v^ishes  all  to  be  tortured.  None  know  the  wishes 
of  Kiodego,  and  the  war-chief  is  silent." 

The  two  Mohawks  now  stood  for  a  moment 
almost  touching  Ahasistari,  who  lay  close  to  the 
side  of  the  lodge,  motionless  as  the  wood  itself. 
From  their  conversation  the  chief  gathered  that 
the  council  was,  looked  to  with  great  anxiety,  as 
there  was  a  diversity  of  opinion  with  regard  to 
the  fate  of  the  Jesuit.  At  this  moment  a  wild 
yell  interrupted  the  two  Mohawks,  and  drew 
them  away.  The  carousers  having  exhausted 
the  liquor  set  out  for  them,  searched  for  the  re- 
mainder, and  having  found  it,  overpowered  the 
guard  and  bore  it  off.*  The  Huron  chief  renewed 
his  eflForts  with  more  hardihood,  when  he  was 
again  interrupted.  The  Indians  in  charge  of  the 
lodge  had  left  it  unprotected,  and  hastened  to  the 
assistance  of  their  companions.  Several  of  the 
half  intoxicated  Mohawks  discovered  this,  and 


%• 


TSE  COUNCIL. 


141 


\ 


I  i 


rashed  towards  the  lodge  in  a  body^  determined 
to  sacrifice  the  prisoners  upon  the  instant.  The 
old  women  had  obtained  some  of  the  rum,  and 
now,  intoxicated,  they  joined  furiously  in  the 
revels,  till  the  open  space  around  the  fires  pre- 
sented a  scene  worthy  of  pandemonium.  The  light 
of  the  fires,  as  they  stirred  and  tossed  up  the 
brands,  flashed  fitfully  upon  the  crowds  of  reel- 
ing wretches,  shrieking  in  the  madness  of  ine- 
briety. Here  were  groups  contending  with  the 
guards  for  the  last  remnants  of  the  fire-water. 
There  parties  of  the  revellers  fought  and  strug- 
gled in  harmless  fury  among  themselves.  The 
grave  and  solemn  Indian  warrior  was  transformed 
into  a  wallowing  brute ;  some  sat,  like  grinning 
idiots,  gazing  with  meaningless  faces  into  the 
fires,  whose  glare  played  wildly  over  their 
crouching  figures  —  whilst,  fiercest  of  all,  came 
on  towards  the  lodge,  the  few  bent  on  murder. 
They  had  reached  the  opening,  no  guards  were 
there ;  the  fastenings  were  yielding  to  their  hands. 
At  that  moment  a  powerful  figure  rose  up,  as  it 
were  in  the  midst  of  them,  and  mingled  with 
them.    Two  heavy  blows  from  bis  stalwart  arm 


.V 


SEK 


142 


TffS   COUNCIL. 


brought  the  foremost  of  the  rioters  to  the  ground ; 
the  rest  fell  over  them  shouting  madly.  The 
figure  drew  back  behind  the  corner  of  the  lodge, 
for  the  cries  -of  the  party  had  attracted  tke  guard, 
who  ran  in  strength  to  the  spot^  and  having  re-^ 
lieved  the  prisoners  from  danger,  which  was  im- 
minent, remained  doubly  watchful  at  their  posi- 
tion. In  a  moment  n^re  Ahasistari  -gained  the 
edge  of  the  forest  and^  stood  awaiting  the  result. 
AH  hope  of  escape  for  that  night  was  cut  oft'. 
Some  of  the  guards  took  their  position  within 
the  lodge,  while  others  destroyed  the  rum  that 
still  remained,  as  the  only  means  of  quieting  the 
tumult;  and  one  by  one  the  revellers  fell  off  into 
the  deep  sleep  of  intoxication,         '^   - 

Ahasistari  returned  to  his  hiding-place  among 
the  rocks,  satisfied  that  no  further  harm  would 
befall  the  prisoners  until  the  council  should  de- 
cide upon  their  fate.  Of  the  doom  of  Father  La- 
val and  Le  Loup  he  felt  little  doubt,  and  he  could 
delayno  longer  iii  the  itttempt  at  rescue,  but 
must  at  length  cast  all  his  hope  upon  the  hazard  of 
the  die.  He  must  win  all  or  lose  all.  As  Quick- 
foot  did  not  return,  he  concluded  that  he.  mmt 


4$ir 


THE   COUNCIL. 


148 


have  fallen  in  with  Watook,  and  that  they 
awaited  his  commands  at  the  appointed  spot.  It 
was  now  necessary  to  dispatch  the  remaining 
Huron  instantly  to  bring  up  these  warriors,  and, 
it  would  even  then  occupy  them  until  the  evening 
"of  the  next  day  to  reach  the  rocky  hiding-place 
of  their  chief.  The  Huron  set  out,  and  Ahasis- 
tari  was  left  alone.     He  knelt  and  prayed. 

Father  Laval  remained  some  time  absorbed  in 
prayer  after  all  the  sounds  without  had  died 
away.  Of  a  strong  and  enduring  frame,  and 
used  to  hardships,  he  had  already  recovered  from 
the  effects  of  the  long  and  painful  march  through 
the  forest,  while  the  novice,  though  much  im- 
proved, still  suffered  severely  from  his  labors. 
The  Hurons,  all  along,  aware  that  their  chief 
was  hovering  abotrt  them,  knew  that  any  attempt 
at  rescue  was  of  too  doubtful  result  for  them  to 
rest  a  hope  upon,  and  prepared  themselves  still 
more,  every  hour,  for  that  final  and  fatal  ttial 
which  impended  over  them.  At  length  they 
gave  themselves  up  to  slumber  with  cheerful 
hearts,  trusting  in  the  goodness  and  mercy  of 
God. 


144 


THE   COUNCIL 


With  morning  began  the  preparations  for  the 
council.  The  sullen  countenances  of  those  who 
had  shared  over  night  in  the  debauch,  boded  ill 
for  the  prisoners.  Many  a  scowling  and  savage 
look '  was  cast  upon  them.  A  little  after  noon 
came  the  deputation  from  the  neighboring  vil- 
lage :  it  was  small,  composed  of  but  two  or  three 
braves,  the  greater  portion  of  the  successful  war- 
riors having  gone  out  with  their  share  of  the 
pluuder  towards  Fort  Orange  to  exchange  it  for 
powder,  lead,  rum,  and  other  articles  of  traiB&c.  * 
The  deputies  were  received  with  much  pomp  and 
ceremony,. and  regaled  with  the  best  fare  that  the 
village  contained.  They  were  then  conducted 
to  the  council-lodge,  where  the  proceedings  were 
opened  with  great  state  and  solemnity.  The 
elder  and  most  distinguished  braves  formed 
themselves  in  a  circle  in  the  centre  of  the  lodge ; 
beyond  them  sat  the  less  notable  of  the  tribe. 
Each  one,  as  he  entered,  took  his  seat  in  order ; 
profound  silence  reigned  throughout  the  assem- 
blage. At  length  the  old  chief  arrived  —  the 
calumet  was  passed  around — and,  at  a  sign  from 
Kiodego^  as  a  mark  of  honor^  the  brave  who  had 


i 


\ 


I 


THE   COUNCIL 


145 


I 


csotnmanded    the    successful  war-posts    arose    to 

address  them.    His  voice,  at  first  low,  swelled  out 

as  he  proceeded,  and  his  gesture  became  animated 

and   picturesque.      A  robe   of  light  skins  was 

fastened  around   his  waist  and   fell   below  his 

thigh ;  a  collar,  of  the  claws  of  the  wild  bear, 

hung  around  his  neck ;  a  snake-skin  encircled  his 

arm,  and  the  feathers  of  the  wild  eagle  adorned 

his    head.      His    face  was    hideously    painted. 

Streaks  of  black  and  re  4  were  drawn  from  his 

ears  towards  his  mouth,  while  a  broad  band  of 

vermilion  extended  across  his  forehead  and  over 

his  eyes.     As  he  spoke  he  pointed  towards  the 

prisoners,  and  at  length  singled  out  the  Jesuit.    . 

"Why  has  he  come  from  his  far  land,  from 

the  bones  of  his  fathers,  across  the  great  water, 

to  the  hunting-grounds  of  the  red  men  ?     His 

people  have  settled  down  among  our  brothers  in 

the  north,  and  lo !  they  have  made  them  women ! 

They  have  turned  the  Hurons  to  dogs,  made 

them  forsake  the  Great  Spirit,  and  join  with  the 

pale-face  in  battle  against  their  own  kind  and 

color !    The  blackrobe  is  a  medicine )  he  speaks, 

and  warriors  weep;  the  Hurons  are  his  slav<^; 
18  K 


.'^■»"*'V^ 


—ywiiwpwjtLW  '  HI  1^ 


H6 


rF^  COUNCIL. 


■p 


he  is  a  great  medicine.     What  shall  be  the  fate 
of  the  pale-face?*' 

:  The  chief  sat  dowTi,  and  a  silence  of  a  few 
minutes'  duration  ensued.  It  was  broken  at 
length  by  a  warrior,  who  said : 

"  Let  him  die  f  Kiohba's  voice  is  tha^.  the 
pale-face  die  at  the  stake.  His  enchantments 
have  destroyed  the  Hurons,  have  driven  away 
the  buffalo  and  bounding  deer.  His  people  have 
swept  down  the  beautiful  forests  on  the  great 
river.  Kiohba  has  seen  him  make  that  sign 
upon  his  forehead,  which  our  .zhite  brothers  of 
Fort  Orange  tell  us  is  a  folly  and  a  wickedness 
—  a  sorcery.  If  the  chiefs  spare  the  pale-face, 
he  will  soften  the  hearts  of  the  Iroquois  and 
weaken  their  arms  in  battle,  and  they  will  fall 
before  his  people,  and  become  slaves,  like  the 
Hurons.     The  pale-face  must  die  I " 

Several  of  the  warriors  nodded  their  heads  in 
silent  approval  of  the  speech  of  the  brave. 

**Let  us  keep  the  great  medicine,''  said  one 
who  had  noi  been  of  the  war-party,  but  who  had 
listened  with  wonder  to  the  reported  conversa- 
fcicms  of  the  priest.    ^^Let  us  keep  him  in  tiiie 


lAtfr. 


TBE  COUNCIL. 


147 


tribe.  Let  us  make  hiLi  our  brother,  and  give 
him  the  first  ripe  corn  and  the  fattest  .of  the  deer  I 
Let  us  build  him  a  lodge,  and  his  heart  will  love 
the  Mohawk  people,  he  will  strengthen  their 
arms  and  protect  their  villages!" 

A  smile  of  scorn  played  upon  the  lips  of  Ki- 
ohba,  a<^  he  replied:  ''My  brother  is  a  canning 
counsellor ;  he  is  wise  and  brave  at  the  council^ 
fire !  Does  he  meed  a  great  medicine  to  strengthen 
his  courage?  Kiohba  fears  not  the  medicine. 
He  has  met  the  Huron  and  the  French  in  battle. 
.The  pale-face  must  die  1  '* 
,  Other  warriors  now  arose,  some  espousing  ojxe 
side  and  some  the  other.  The  dispute  grew 
warm,  when  Kiodego  interposed : 

''My  brothers!"  he  said,  "it  has  been  de- 
manded, why  the  blackrobe  came  into  our  }and> 
and  why  he  goes  far  into  the  wilderness  with 
the  Hurons,  scattering  liis  spells  upon  his  path. 
Let  the  pale-face  answer  1  Unbind  him,  and  lead 
him  forward."  A  young  warrior  hastened  to  re- 
lease the  Jesuit,  and  assisted  him  into  the  cirok. 

"Speak,  Tulhasagal"*    9aid  the  old  chief 

*  *<Momiiig-light  inliabitantfl." 


iijiii      I.    mi  iiiinuii;ifijij;i.| 


T  / 


148 


TBM  COUNCIL, 


coldly,  as  if  he  had  as  yet  heard  nothing  from 
the  priest  concerning  the  object  of  his  mission. 
*^ Speak!  Why  comest  thou  to  our  land? 
What  dost  thou  seek?^' 

Father  Laval  bowed  his  head  for  a  moment  in 
prayer,  and  then  replied: 

"  Chicjf,  I  seek  souls ;  I  came  to  do  the  work 
of  my  Master ;  I  came  to  preach  another  faith 
in  this  land,  to  teach  and  instruct  the  ignorant. 
My  mission  is  one  of  peace ;  it  is  with  the  souls 
of  men,  and  not  their  bodies.  I  would  teach 
them  to  calm  their  passions,  to  cast  out  the  spirit 
of  evil  from  their  hearts ;  to  walk  in  the  path 
of  justice  and  of  virtue.  I  came  over  the  stormy 
waters  to  bear  the  tidings  of  the  Gospel  to  the 
heathen,  and  to  plant  the  holy  cross  in  the  wil- 
derness. You  ask,  with  what  object  I  was  going 
far  into  the  west.  I  was  about  to  seek  new  con- 
verts to  the  cross.  But,  chief,''  —  and  the  voice 
of  the  missionary  swelled  out  into  its  fullest  and 
most  musical  tones,  entrancing  the  ear  of  the 
savage.  His  form  was  lifted  up,  and  his  hands 
outstretched  before  him.  "  But^  chief,  the  Great 
Spirit,  in  his  wisdom,  haa  willed  it  otherwise. 


u 


h 


THE  COUNCIL. 


149 


From  my  path  to  the  ^u'-on  country  he  has 
turned  my  steps  towards  the  Mohawk  villages  — 
and  here,  O  chief,  in  captivity,  submissive  to  the 
will  of  my  divine  Master,  I  preach  Christ  to  the 
Iroquois;  I  preach  Christ  crucified;  listen  to 
me ! "  Deep  exclamations  broke  from  the  aston- 
ished council,  but  they  awaited  in  patience. 
"You  are  in  darkness,  I  bring  you  light!  re- 
ceive it!^'  And  he  told  them  how  God  had 
created  the  world,  and  man  the  lord  of  all ;  of 
the  fall ;  of  the  redemption ;  of  the  new  Gospel ; 
of  the  commission  to  his  apostles  and  their  suc- 
cessors, to  go  forth  and  ^  teach  all  nations,  bap- 
tizing them  in  the  i  ne  of  the  Father,  and  of 
the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost;"  how  that 
commission  had  been  sealed  by  mir teles;  how 
the  blind  saw,  the  lame  walked,  and  t'  e  dead 
were  raised  to  life  again.  And  thtm  he  painted 
before  their  eyes,  in  glowing  colors,  the  joys  of 
heaven  v/hich  were  reserved  for  thoso  lO  should 
believe  in  Him,  and  love  and  serve  liim,  and  the 
fearful  torments  which  the  all-just  God  destined 
for  those  who  should   reject  and   disobey  His 

commands.     A  gleam  of  wild  jpy  broke  from  the 
18* 


,  y 


^ 


160  THE  COUNCIL. 

eyes  of  the  Hurons,  as  they  looked  upon  thfe 
astonished  Mohawks,  while  the  Jesuit  continued : 
^*  This  is  the  religion  which  I  preach ;  these  are 
the  glad  tidings  which  I  bring  you ;  and  it  is  to 
announce  this  Gospel  to  the  children  of  the  wil- 
tierness  that  I  have  come  from  the  land  of  the 
east.  The  Great  Spirit  speaks  it  to  you  by  my 
mouth;  listen,  and  believe ! " 

Father  Laval  concluded,  and  silence  reigned 
for  a  time  throughout  the  lodge.  At  length 
Kiodego  addressed  him:  * 

^^  My  brother  has  spoken  well,  he  is  wise !  But 
be  tells  a  strange  tale,  how  shall  we  believe  him  ?" 

"He  speaks  with  a  forked  tongue,''  said  Ki- 
ohba ;  "  he  is  a  liar  1 " 

"We  are  satisfied  with  our  own  God,''  ex- 
claimed another  -—  "  the  war-god  —  Wacondah, 
The  God  of  the.  great  medicine  has  mtide  cow- 
ards of  the  Hurons ;  the  God  of  the  Mohawks 
strengthens  the  arms  of  his  children  in  battle. 
The  Mohawks  want  not  the  God  of  the  pale- 
face." And  then  the  clamor  for  his  death  be- 
came louder,  while  the  advocates,  not  of  mercy, 
but  of  delay  for  expediency,  were  silenced.     The 


1 


\ « 


t 


THE  COUNCIL, 


161 


fiito  of  the  good  priest  seemed  alrdiSy  sealed. 
Without  further  delay,  a  Mohawk  approached 
him,  and,  at  a  signal  from  thq  chief,  compelled 
him  to  kneel,  and  began  to  paint  his  head  and 
face.  Then  a  shout  of  joy  broke  from  the  crowd 
without ;  for  it  was  the  mark  of  death  upon  the 
victim,  and  they  ^veiled  already  in  anticipation 
of  the  torture.  At  that  moment  a  slight  move^ 
ment  was  made  in  the  crowd  around  the  door ;  it 
swayed  forward  and  backward,  and  then  gave 
way,  leaving  an  opening  into  the  centre  of  the 
circle.  Leaning  upon  a  warrior,  Kiskepila) 
weak  and  tottering,  with  his  bandages  still  upon 
his  wounds,  pressed  forward  through  the  passage; 
The  eye  of  the  young  chief  fell  upon  the  group 
in  the  centre.  An  exclamation  burst  froni  his 
lips.  With  the  mighty  energy  of  a  strong  spirit 
he  rose  from  the  arm  that  supported  his  weak 
form  and  strode  alone  into  the  circle.  With  orfe 
hand  he  cast  aside  the  Mohawk;  the  other  he 
rested  upon  the  brow  of  the  priest.  A  death-like 
stillness  reigned  upon  the  scene ;  not  a  hand  was 
raised  to  arrest  his  course ;  not  a  voice  was  up- 
lifted against  him.     Surprise  held  all  men  &ilent| 


.-ffimimmmmm 


mmm 


162 


TSi:  COUNCIL 


-! 


while  the  flashing  eye  of  the  young  warrior 
turned  from  face  to  face.  '^  Kiskepila  is  a  chief/^ 
said  the  young  eagle  of  his  tribe,  "  who  will 
oppose  him  ?  The  Hurons  have  fled  before  the 
arm  of  Kiskepila !  Shall  he  have  no  voice  in 
the  councils  of  the  tribe?"  And  he  placed  the 
other  hand  above  the  h^d  of  the  kneeling  priest. 
"Shall  he  be  silent  when  the  boaster  is  heird?" 
and  he  pointed  to  Kiohba.  "Kiskepila  asks 
the  chiefs  and  braves  to  spare  the  pale-face.''  He 
looked  arouhd  for  a  reply -^  there  was  none.  At 
length  Kiohba  said  coldly : 

"The  chiefe  and  braves  have  spoken;  the  pale- 
face must  die.  See!  the  death-paint  is  upon  his 
brow.'* 

With  a  look  of  scorn  the  young  man  turned 
away  from  the  speaker  and  glanced  once  more 
around  the  circle.  The  features  of  the  stern 
Mohawks  were  unmoved;  they  were  silent. 
Kiohba  was  triumphing. 

"My  brothers  I"  said  Kiskepila,  his  eye  light- 
ing up  again  with  indignation,  "my  brothers, 
Kiskepila  was  wounded  and  fainting,  and  dying 
upon  the  field  of  battle;  and  the  pale-face  bathed 


''"if 


\' 


~   THE  COUNCIL. 


168 


i 


r     I- 


V 


\:: 


his  lips  and  bound  his  wounds.  Kiskepila  owes 
a  life  to  the  pale-face,  and  he  will  repay  it.  Let 
Kiohba  show  the  mark  of  a  Huron  on  his  breatit^ 
or  the  scalp  of  a  foe  at  his  girdle." 

The  Indian  replied  not.  The  eyes  of  the  old 
men  turned  upon  the  Jesuit^  and,  with  an  excla- 
mation of  wonder,  they  looked  to  the  chief  of 
the  war-party,  for  confirmation  of  a  story  to  them 
so  strange. 

"  The  words  of  the  young  eagle  are  true,"  he 
said;  "the  pale-face  bound  up  the  wounds  of 
Kiskepila ;  he  saved  his  life.  The  blackrobe  waa 
a  dove  upon  the  field  of  battle — a  d6ve  among 
the  eagles." 

Silence  again  ensued.  The  Jesuit,  wrapped  in 
prayer,  scarce  heeded  the  scene  around  him ;  but 
ever  and  anon  the  bright  eye  of  Le  Loup  would 
gleam  upon  him,  as,  with  head  bent  forward,  the 
Huron  listened,  with  interest,  to  th^  words  of  the 
young  Mohawk  chief. 

"The  council  have  spoken!"  said  Kiohba 
again,  fearful  that  a  change  might  take  place  in 
the  opinions  of  the  warriors,  some  of  whom 
seemed  to  lean  towards  the  young  chief;   "the 


mm 


164 


TSM  COVNQIL. 


' 


council  have  spoken;  the  pale-face  must  die.  It 
is  right;  for  the  spells  of  the  blackrobe  are  upon 
the  heart  of  Xiskepila ;  he  has  made  a  Huron  of 
the  Mohawk." 

"You  lie,  dog!"  exclaimed  the  young  chief, 
fiercely. 

"The  tongue  of  Eiohba  is  not  forked,"  said 
the  other,  coldly,  feeling  the  advantage  which  he 
was  gaining,  through  the  generous  impetuosity 
of  his  opponent:  "Let  the  chiefs  look :  Kiske- 
pUa  could  not  walk  alone  to  the  council-lodge; 
and  see !  he  stands,  as  if  he  had  no  wounds  upon 
him ;  it  is  the  spell  of  the  pale-(^ce  medicine. 
The  blackrobe  must  die,  or  the  warriors  will 
become  women ! " 

The  old  men  shook  their  heads,  as  they  looked 
upon  the  upright  and  noble  figure  of  the  young 
brave,  while  the  bandages  were  still  fresh,  as  it 
were,  upon  d^p  and  dangerous  wounds.  It  was 
the  energy  of  the  spirit,  not  of  the  flesh,  that 
sustained  the  chief.  The  eyes  of  Kiohba  gleamed 
with  joy,  as  he  saw  the  impression  he  had  made. 
T4ie  young  man  again  spoke,  but  in  a  lower  and 
sterner  tone : 


THE  COUNCIL. 


166 


^     t 


" Kiskepila  owes  the/ pale-face  a  life;  he  shall 
not  die !  Kiskepila  will  adopt  him  as  his  brother, 
in  place  of  him  who  is  dead.  He  demands  the 
pale-face  for  his  brother!" 

Kiohba  smiled  grimly^  as  he  replied^  pointing 
to  the  old  chief:  "The  father  may  demand  the 
prisoner,  to  adopt  him  as  bis  son.  Let  the  chief 
speak;  will  he  take  to  his  lodge  the  sorcerer, 
who  has  changed  the  heart  of  the  young  eagle 
who  was  oiuie  the  truest  of  the  Mohawks  ? '' 
r  Absorbed  in  anxious  expectation,  the  young 
brave  heeded  not  the  taunt.  The  old  man  was 
silent  for  a  moment,  then  raising  his  head,  re^ 
plied  firmly : 

"Kiskepila  was  a  warrior,  a  Mohawk.  He 
has  taken  a  Huron  heart.  The  pale-face  has 
told  him  strange  tales,  and  he  has  heard.  The 
blackgown  is  a  sorcerer.  The  father  of  Kiske- 
pila will  not  claim  him;  let  him  die!"  The 
head  of  the  young  chief  sunk  upon  his  breast, 
and  he  was  silent; 

"  He  must  die ! "  re-echoed  Kiohba,  and, 
tauntingly,  continued:  "He  tells  you  that  his 
God  raised  the  dead  to  life;   why  does  he  not 


156 


THE   COUNCIL. 


call  up  the  great  Champlain  from  the  tomb  to 
protect  his  people  ?  Let  us  see  whether  his  God 
will  save  the  pale-face^  when  the  flames  shall 
glow  and  curl  around  his  white  limbs  I  '* 

"  You  demand  of  me  a  miracle ! "  Father 
Laval  replied  gently ;  "  you  call  on  my  God  to 
raise  the  dead.  He  has  done  so;  he  can  do  it 
again.  I{e  has  opened  the  silent  tomb,  and  bid 
the  dead  arise  and  come  forth,  glowing  with  life, 
and  health,  and  energy ;  and  he  has  done  this  at 
the  prayer  of  his  holy  servants.  I  am  but  his 
humble  follower.  What  right  have  you  to 
demand  from  the  God  who  made  you,  a  sign 
and  a  miracle  in  testimony  ?  Yours  is  not  the 
prayer  of  the  willing;  it  is  the  scoff  of  the 
hater.'' 

The  indignant  voice  of  the  Jesuit  ceased. 
After  a  pause  of  some  moments  an  Indian  ap- 
proached, and  finished  painting  his  head  and 
face.  It  was  the  sign  of  final  condemnation, 
and  was  received  with  exultation  by  D(iany ;  yet 
there  were  not  a  few  who  began  to  entertain  an 
increased  dread  of  what  they  imagined  to  be  his 
power.     But    the   feeling  of  the   council  was 


THE   COUNCIL, 


167 


excited^  although  that  assemblage  still  retained 
its  calm  and  grave  aspect;  and,  with  but  little 
delay,  the  novice  and  the  Hurons  were  also  con- 
demned to  the  torture.  Father  Laval,  Le  Loup 
and  two  other  Hurons  were  to  suffer  on  the  mor- 
row, in  front  of  the  council-lodge,  while  Bene 
Bourdoise  and  the  three  remaining  Hurons  were 
to  be  tortured  at  the  other  village.  The  pris- 
oners received  their  doom  calmly,  the  Hurons 
looking  coldly  on  the  preparations,  which  were 
begun  at  once,  to  carry  out  the  sentence  of  the 
council,  which  then  broke  up. 

When  Kiskepila  found  all  his  efforts  fruitless, 
he  took  the  arm  of  the  warrior,  who  had  assisted 
him  to  the  spot,  for  his  strength  began  to  fail 
very  rapidly,  and,  in  silence,  returned  to  his 
tent,  determined  not  to  look  upon  sufferings 
which  he  could  not  prevent  or  alleviate.  Morn- 
ing Flower  awaited  sadly  the  termination  of  the 
council,  and  wept  over  the  fate  of  the  black- 
gown  ;  but  she  recalled  to  memory  the  beautiful 
lessons  of  patience  which  he  had  taught  her,  and 
suppressed  the  manifestation  of  her  grief. 

The  Huron   messenger  of  Ahasistari  struck 


1S8 


THE   COUNCIL. 


directly  through  the  forest  in  the  direction  of  tha 
place  where  the  braves  were  supposed  to  lie  con- 
cealed. The  stars  were  shining  in  the  clear 
heavens^  and  an  occasional  glance  at  their  spark- 
ling orbs  served  to  guide  his  path.  Up  over 
hill  an4  steep  &scent,  over  swamp  and  moriass 
went  the  swi£b  Indian,  at  his  leaping  trot,  tireless, 
never  pausing.  Midnight  o^mey  and  the  runner 
8tUl  pressed  on ;  his  moccasined  &et  springing 
yet  lightly  from  the  soft  turf,  as  he  bounded  on. 
Darkness  melted  slowly  into  the  gray  of  morn, 
and  morning  brightened  into  day,  and  yet  the 
Huron  speeded  on.  At  length  he  paused  upon 
the  summit  of  a  little  hill.  At  its  foot,  clear 
and  pellucid,  flowed  a  gentle*  stream.  But  no 
trace  could  he  discover  of  any  living  thing  upon 
its  banks,  or  in  its  surrounding  forest.  A  mo- 
ment more  his  eye  scanned  the  wood,  and  then 
descended  to  the  water's  edge.*  As  he  leaned 
upon  his  rifle,  he  carefully  observed  the  current 
flowing  by  him,  till  his  gaze  seemed  riveted  by 
a  floating  twig,  with  green  leaves  upon  it.  An 
eddy  whirled  it  in  towards  the  shore,  and  he 
4rew  it  towards  him  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle. 


THE   COUNCIL, 


159 


The  fracture  of  the  branch  was  fresh,  and  it  was 
evidently  torn,  not  bitten  off.  Swinging  his 
rifle  into  the  holiow  of .  his  arm,  the  runner 
turned  directly  up  the  stream,  taking  care  to 
leave  no  tracks  behind  him.  For  some  time  he 
proceeded  on  his  course,  still  casting  an  occa- 
sional glance  at  the  forest  around  him,  and  on 
the  ground  before  him,  watching  for  the  marks 
of  a  trail.  Suddenly  he  paused,  and  looked 
intently  upon  the  ground,  and  then  stooped  down 
to  examine  the  surface  more  closely. 

"  Hugh !  pale-face ! "  he  exclaimed. 

The  step  was  turned  from  the  stream ;  treading 
cautiously,  so  as  not  to  obliterate  the  trail.  He 
followed  it  back  "to  the  water's  edge,  and  exam- 
ined the  bushes  which  grew  there ;  they  w^ere  of 
the  same  kind  as  the  branch  which  he  held  in 
his  hand.  Falling  into  the  trail,  he  traced  it  up  ' 
the  hill,  along  the  summit  of  which  it  ran.  At 
length  a  low  whistling  struck  upon  his  ear,  and 
he  paused  to  listen ;  and  then  crept  on  more  cau- 
tiously* At  the  foot  of  a  large  tree,  on  an  ele- 
vated spot,  from  which  aa  extensive  sweep  of 
th6  forest,  fadng  towards  the  Mohawk  village^ 


mmmi^mmmiSHimi 


■PipPffPP"»i*P*P"" 


160 


THE   COUNCIL. 


was  visible,  sat  the  figure  of  a  white  marf,  holding 
in  his  hand  a  large  rough  ox-horn,  which  he 
was  busily  engaged  in  shaping  into  a  po.wder- 
horn.  Every  now  and  then  he  compared  it 
with  the  one  which  was  slung  at  his  side,  and 
then  renewed  his  labors.  Suddenly  a  new  idea 
seemed  to  strike  him;  and,  putting  it  to  his 
mouth,  he  gave  a  blast,  which  made  the  Huron 
start  with  surpiise.  Then  he  began  at  once  to 
shape  the  small  opening  into  something  like  a 
mouth-piece.  At  last  he  seemed  satisfied,  and 
putting  it  to  his  lips,  sounded  it  again. 

"  Ha  I  that  will  do  I  *'  he  said  at  length ;  "  good 
idea ;  Indian  hates  the  sound  of  a  horn,  and  I 
like  it.  "Well,  I  may  want  it  soon;"  and  he 
stuck  it  in  his  belt.  As  he  did  so,  the  Huron 
runner  stepped  before  him.  - 

"  L'Espion  Hardi ! "  The  scout  sprang  to  his 
feet,  grasping  his  rifle. 

"  Ah !  Huron  I "  he  said,  as  his  eye  fell  upon 
the  dress  and  paint  of  the  Indian ;  and  he  re- 
sumed  his  seat  again. 

"  Huron  ?  Yes !  No  Mohawk  I  or  "  —  and  the 
Indian  pointed  significantly  to  his  scalp. 


' 


I  ( 


r 


■• 


^ 


'  1 1 


THE   COUNCIL, 


161 


"  Right,  Huron !  I  was  making  a  powder- 
horn,  when  I  thought  of  the  trumpets  of  Cham- 
plain,  as  he  marched  to  battle.  Ah!  did  you 
ever  fight  under  Champlain,  Huron  ?  " 

"  No !  the  chief  and  many  of  the  braves  were 
out  I ''       ^ 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,  Huron  I  Well,  it  came  into 
my  head  to  try  how  a  good  blast  would  sound 
in  this  old  forest.  It  was  rash,  I  won't  deny 
it,"  he  continued,  as  the  Huron  shook  his  head ; 
"  but  a  Frenchman  loves  the  sound  of  the  trumpet. 
Listen  now,''  he  said,  applying  the  trumpet  to 
his  lips  once  more ;  but  the  Indian  placed  his 
hand  upon  it  and  said :  ^ 

"  Daring  scout !  Mohawk  hunter  may  hear ! " 

"Yes,  yes!  but  when  we  were  out  against 
the  Mohawks  with  Champlain,  he  let  them  hear 
more  of  it  than  they  liked." 

"  Great  brave  ! "  said  the  runner. 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  warrior !     It  does  me  good  to 

hear  his  name  shoutcid   in   a  brisk  charge;    it 

helps  wonderfully,  although  he  is  dead  and  gone 

now.    Yes,  he  was  a  man,"  continued  Pierre, 

sorrowfully;  "no  such  man  in  all  the  province 
14*  L 


162 


TBE.  CO  UNCIL. 


V- 


now,  or  these  rascally  Mohawks  would  be  taught 
♦  a  lesson  worth  remembering."      * 

"  The  daring  scout  is  with  the  Huron  braves  ? '' 
asked  the  runni^. 

"Yes!  and  I  suppose  you  are  the  messenger 
that  I  am  to  look  for  ? ''  The  runner  nodded  his 
hei^,  and  the  other  continued : 

"They  are  across  the  stream;  let  us  go;"  and, 
swinging  his  rifle  over  his  shoulder,  the  scout 
descended  the  hill  with  rapid  strides.  When 
th^y  approached  the  stream,  the  runner  glided  to 
the  side  of  the  hunter,  and  holding  up  the  broken 
twig  before  him,  said : 

"Daring  scout  casts  a  trail  upon  the  water. 
Huron  found  this  far  down  the  stream." 

The  scout  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  while  the 
runner  explained  himself;  and  then,  half  angry 
at  the  implied  reproach,  answered : 

"  Well,  and  but  for  that  twig  you  would  not 
have  found  us ;  you  missed  the  trail ! " 

"  I  crossed  it  in  the  night,"  said  the  Huron, 
"  but  not  far  off.  Up  or  down  the  stream,  the 
Huron  would  soon  have  found  it." 

"Far  enough,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  scout, 


V    "  ■  '■^"■P" 


THJB  COUNCIL. 


168 


1 


'*  or  you  would  have  been  here  at  once,  without, 
striking  on  the  stream  below.  See,  here  is  one 
of  Quickfoot's  marks  upon  this  oak ;  he  followed 
directly  upon  the  trail,  and  even  made  it  plainer/ 
for  you,  by  these  gashes !'' 

^*  Bad  I "  replied  the  runner  quickly ;  "  Mohawk 
k^en  eye  !*^ 

"  Night  and  day,'*  continued  the  scout,  *^  we 
kept  watch,  by  turns,  upon  that  hill  which  over- 
looked the  path,  waiting  for  the  messenger,  whom 
Quickfoot  told  us  Ahasistari  would  send.'' 

*' Huron!"  said  Pierre,  after  walking  some 
time  in  silence,  "have  you  seen  the  prisoners?" 

"  Yes,  from  the  woods ;  saw  blackgown  walk- 
ing about." 

"Well,  perhaps  then  they  won't  attempt  to 
kill  them  yet,  and  we  can  get  there  in  time." 

The  Indian  shook  his  head,  and  said: 
.    "To-day  council;  to-morrow  torture;  daring 
scout  knows  how  it  is." 

"  Then,"  said  the  scout  sternly,  as  he  strode 
along  with  swifter  step,  "  then,  Huron,  there  will 
be  at  the  dance  some  guests  not  invited^' 

They  hastened  on  in  silence,  until  they  reached 


PHM 


imi^fm^f' 


— r—TTT-T- 


164 


THE   COUNCIL. 


the  place  of  concealment.  It  was  well  chosen. 
In  an  extensive  thicket^  a  space  had  been  cut 
away,  and  here  the  warriors  were  lying  about  in 
groups  upon  their  blankets.  Exclamations  of 
delight  welcomed  the  scout  and  the  runner,  and 
the  whole  body  assembled  in  council.  The  run- 
ner explained  the  condition  of  things,  and  deliv- 
ered the  order  of  the  chief;  and  in  a  few  moments 
more  the  party,  nineteen  in  number,  took  up  their 
line  of  march,  throwing  out  active  scouts  in  ad- 
vance, to  guard  against  any  accidental  meeting 
with  the  Mohawks.      ' 


!■ 


y 


mtmmmmm 


}■ 


t 


CHAP  TEE  X. 


THE  TORTURE. 


IMMEDIATELY  after  the  breaking  up 
of  the  council,  the  Mohawks  began  their 
preparations  for  the  coming  festival. 
Four  stakes  were  planted  in  front  of  the  lodge, 
and  piles  of  fagots  were  gathered  in  the  forest. 
At  a  little  distance  beyond  the  first,  four  other 
stakes  were  placed,  to  which  the  prisoners,  whose 
fate  was  postponed,  were  to  be  bound,  that  they 
might  witness  the  agony  of  their  brethren,  and 
suffer,  themselves,  in  anticipation.  The  youths 
of  the  village  now  commenced  to  gather  about  the 
lodge,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  preliminary  torture, 
which  was  permitted  them  for  their  own  especial 
amusement,  and  to  practise  them  in  the  ways  of 
aruelty.    This  sometimes  eudui'ed  until  taken 

106 


M#IMNr   9M>4 


■•«• 


166 


r/ri?   TORTURE. 


port  in  by  the  brav^,  when  it  did*  not  cease  until 
death  braught^  relief  to  the  victim.  Le  Loup 
and  Father  Laval  were  brought  forth  and  tied  to 
two  of  the  stakes,  and  the  clamorous  mob  hov- 
ered around  them,  pelting  and  annoying  them  in 
a  thousand  ingenious  modes  of  petty  torture. 
They  soon,  however,  became  more  systematic, 
and,  drawing  off  to  a  little  distance,  practised 
upon  their  living  targets,  with  the  bow  and 
arrow,  and  the  tomahawk.  Le  Loup  stood  up 
with  the  proud  and  fearless  bearing  of  the  war- 
rior, hfs  steady  eye  gleaming  unmoved  upon  the 
flashing  weapon,  as,  hurled  from  the  skilful 
hand,  it  grazed  his  temple,  and  sank  quivering 
into  the  post  behind  him.  Another  and  another 
threw;  it  was  a  desperate  game,  in  which  the 
winner  was  he  who  came  nearest  to  death  with- 
out touching  life.  Father  Laval  endured  with 
the  meekness  and  patience  of  the  martyr ;  his 
eyes  were  upturned  to  heaven,  for  he  dared  not 
look  up«n  the^  hand,  that  threw  the  coming 
W^pon.  Kiohba,  the  Mohawk,  stretched  out 
upqn  th«  jsoft  turf,  watched .  th^  yi^uthful  tor* 
mentors  with  quiet  enjoyment,,  occasionally  s^g? 


^^ 


TUB   TORTURE, 


167 


ge^ting  to  them  some  new  mode  of  increasing  the 
suflerings  of  the  victims.  At  length,  as  his  ap- 
petite for  cruelty  became  excited,  he  arose,  and, 
seizing  one  of  the  tomahawks,  drew  back  and 
hurled  it  at  the  Jesuit.  The  weapon  whistled 
through  the  air,  and  struck  the  post  by  his  tem- 
ple, driving  a  lock  of  his  hair  into  the  wood.  A 
shout  of  delight  arose  from  the  crowd  at  this 
evidence  of  skill,  and  Kiohba,  raising  another 
weapon,  aimed  a  second  time  at  the  priest.  It 
struck  upon  the  other  side  as  truly  as  the  first, 
and  the  victim  stood  drawn  back  to  the  post  by 
his  own  hair.  Renewed  applause  broke  from 
the  youths,  and  each  one  endeavored  to  emulate 
the  skill  of  the  warrior.  After  some  time  they 
grew  tired  of  their  sport j  and  the  prisoners  were 
permitted  for  a  while  to  remain  unmolested. 

As  the  crowd  drew  away  from  the  spot,  the 
figure  of  a  maiden  glided  silently  to  the  side  of 
the  Jesuit,  and,  offering  a  cooling  draught  to  his 
parched  lips,  bathed  his  brow,  which  the  intense 
excitement  had  caused  to  throb  with  feverish 
pain. 

"Stranger  from  over  the  fer  wat^r9;  Morning 


Vt 


W^m 


ss 


tmm 


•  yte%-i  .ac.>jdrf|i>4uw  »m^  . 


m 


168 


THB  TORTURE. 


Flower  thought  once  to  avenge  upon  thee  the 
wounds  of  the  Young  Eagle.  But  blackgown 
has  pardoned  the  wrongs  of  the  Mohawk  girl. 
Thou  hast  told  us  of  the  glory  of  forgiving  and 
loving  our  enemies  —  Tulhasaga,  thou  art  the 
enemy  of  the  Mohawks,  but  Morning  Flower 
doth  not  hate  thee." 

"  Heaven  bless  thee,  my  child,  and  lead  thee, 
through  the  merits  of  Him  who  died  upon  the 
cross,  to  the  way  of  salvation,  preserving  thee 
from  trials  and.  sufferings,"  said  the  Jesuit,  sadly 
but  fervently. 

The  Indian  girl  placed  herself  upon  the  grass 
and  looked  up  into  his  face  affectionately,  as  if  to 
a  father,  and  said,  as  she  caught  the  mournful 
expression  upon  the  countenance  of  the  priest : 

"  Blackgown,  thou  hast  told  me  that  each  one 
shall  bear  his  cross,  as  the  Saviour,  of  whom  thou 
speakest,  bore  his.  Blackgown,  thou  art  bound 
unto  thy  cross ! " 

In  a  moment,  the  sad  expression  passed  from 
the  features  of  the  Jesuit,  and,  with  a  holy 
enthusiasm,  he  exclaimed: 

^^  Oh  God  I  in  the  midst  of  sorrow  and  tribu-* 


: 


iqaMPN 


mmi^mfm 


THE  TORTURE. 


169 


^  - 


latlon^  thou  dost  send  down  consolations  un- 
speakable to  thy  servant ;  by  the  mouth  of  this 
wild  maiden,  thou  hast  uttered  to  me  words  of 
sweet  and  saving  import ;  thou  hast  strengthened 
me ;  thou  hast  consoled.  Oh  I  how  happy  to 
bear  my  cross,  to  suffer— to  suffer  for  thy  sake! 
Gentle  maiden — woman  still!  woman  who  did 
not  shrink  from  the  cross  and  its  ignominy,  from 
the  shouts  and  curses  of  the  crucifiers !  woman, 
still  the  faithful  and  the  pure,  and  the  unswerv- 
ing !  woman,  the  holy,  holy  from  the  holiness  of 
the  stainfess  mother,  pure  from  the  purity  of  the 
immaculate,  gentlest  of  God's  creatures — it  was 
given  to  thee  to  be  the  angel  of  mercy  and  the 
comforter  of  the  afflicted.  Kind  maiden,  thou 
hast  soothed  the  sad  spirit ;  may  the  mother  most 
pure,  the  ennobler  of  thy  sex,  the  ever  virgin, 
intercede  for  thee." 

And  then  the  spirit  of  the  captive  seemed 
wrapt  in  meditation,  and  he  stood,  with  eyes  cast 
upwards,  and  lips  moving  silently.  A  holy  and 
tranquil  glow  crept  softly  over  the  fece  of  him 
who  awaited  a  death  of  horrible  torture.  Sweetly 
it  grew  upon  that  countenance,  the  beam  of 
16  . 


170 


THE  TORTURE. 


prayer,  and  hope,  and  joy,  spreading  from  feature 
to  feature,  till  nothing  of  earth  was  left.  Up- 
wards, upwards  soared  the  soul  upon  the  wings 
of  love ;  upwards  until  it  seemed  already  to  be 
mingling  its  whispered  orisons  with  the  seraphic 
choir.  Hast  thou  looked  upon  the  sunlight 
stealing  gently  o'er  a  shadowed  spot?  Hast 
thou  marked  the  sombre  cloud  disperse,  until 
nothing  but  the  glad  skies  looked  down  upon 
thee  ?  Hast  thou  watched  the  shrouding  naist 
evanish,  or  the  pahj  hue  of  sickness  brignten 
into  the  red  glow  of  health  ?  Thus  fled  sorrow 
and  sadness  from  the  captive's  face. 

The  untutored  maiden  looked  in  wonder  on 
the  change  wrought,  as  it  were,  by  one  uncon- 
scious word.  Here  she  sat,  looking  fondly  up  to 
that  glorious,  heavenly  face>  catching  from  its 
pure  mirror  a  reflection  of  holy  thought.  Un- 
conscious the  Jesuit  stood,  visions  c  iss  hovered 
around, him;. the  gentle  zepjiyr  thuw  fanned. his 
cheek  seemed  beateu  .ou.  it  by  the  wings  of  ser- 
aphs; joyous  songs  broke  upon  his  ear,  and 
clouds  of  incense  floated  sweetly  over  his  wrapt 
Benses.    Death  and  torture  were  before  him,  but 


w 


i 


TBE  TORTURE, 


171 


fr 


heaven  waB  above  him:  could  he  look  down- 
wards to  the  earth  and  its  fleeting  torments  ?  O 
wonderful  mission  of  Christianity  I  which  came 
upon  earth  to  raise*man  far  above  the  very  sub- 
limest  idea  of  the  heathen  God,  to  inspire  him 
with  thought  above  the  power  of  mortality,  to 
give  him  a  life  which 'death  could  not  extinguish 
— a  life  beyond  and  above  this  earth — a  ray  of 
the  Spirit  of  God.  Still  unmoved  the  Jesuit 
stood,  his  head  thrown  back  and  resting  upon 
the  stake,  his  body  supported  by  the  cords  which 
bound  him,  every  function  slumbering,  every 
energy  absorbed.  He  was  in  truth  only  an  im- 
prisoned soul.  Welcome  the  knife,  welcome  the 
torture,  welcome  death  by  fire,  by  steely  by  slow 
delay,  for  the  spirit  is  away  upon  its  wings,  al- 
ready soaring  in  pre-enjoyment  with  the  blessed. 
What  are  a  few  short  hours  of  sufiFering  to  the 
eternity  of  such  bliss?  Oh  yes!  now  welcome, 
Death !  for  thou  canst  only  be  the  usher  of 
eternal  life! 

Like  the  shadow,  when  the  sunbeam  has  passed, 
came  back  the  thought  of  earth  to  the  soul  of  the 
priest.  A  deep  sigh  broke  from  his  half  closed 
lips: 


^ 


1 


..  I 


mm 


172 


THE  TORTURE. 


**  How  long  I  O  Lord  I  how  long  I " 

Awe-stricken  sat  the  simple  Indian  maiden^  as 
she  gazed  upon  that  countenance  effulgent  with 
ineffable  happiness,  glowing  with  unearthly 
beauty.  With  parted  lips  and  fixed  eye,  she 
gazed  reverently — for  woman,  blessed  as  the 
instrument  of  the  great  blessing  to  man,  catches 
intuitively  the  beam  of  heaven's  light,  and  re- 
flects it  in  her  soul, 

"  Mary  — ! "  exclaimed  the  Jesuit,  and  the 
broken  aspiration  was  finished  unheard. 

^'  Mary ! "  repeated  the  Indian  maiden,  in  her 
soft  and  musical  accents.  "Mary I"  There 
was  prayer  in  that  whispered  word  — prayer  of 
the  soul  —  and  it  arose  from  the  wild  heart  of 
the  untutored  Indian  —  from  the  soul  of  the 
ecstatic  priest  —  "Mary!'' 

At  that  moment  came,  swelling  from  the  prison- 
house  of  the  captive  Hurons,  the  sound  of  a 
Christian  hymn.  From  deep  stern  voices  came 
it,  but  the  melody  was  sad  and  plaintive,  and 
varied  with  the  varying  measure  of  the  rudci 
unpolished  verse. 


.  \ 


i\ 


>■ 


THE  TO  ST  UBS. 


178 


Hear  mother,  hoar !       ' 
Hear,  Queen  of  the  bright  and  blessed  t 

Now  that  death  is  near, 
The  prayer  to  thee  addressed ! 

Hear,  for  the  day  is  flying, 

And  thy  poor  children,  sighing. 

Beseech  thy  aid  in  dying. 

Hear  mother,  hear ! 


\\ 


Mother  of  mercy,  hear  I 
The  sun  on  earth  is  sinking; 

With  mingled  hope  ard  fear. 
Thy  children's  hearts  aro  shrinking ; 
Mothiftr,  heed  the  suffering  child. 
Beaten^  wounded,  bruised,  reviled. 
Tortured  in  the  forest  wild. 

Mother,  mother  hear ! 


Mother,  by  His  blood! 

Mother,  by  thy  tears  and  sorrow, 
By  the  earth's  redeeming  wood, 

Aid  us  in  our  strife  to-morrow ! 
Win  from  thy  all-conquering  Son, 
By  the  triumph  he  has  won, 
Grace  and  strength  to  gain  our  own. 
Mother,  mother  hear  I 


Softly  hashed  the  sound  of  prayer^  and  the 
QOtes  died  away,  but  the  still  form  of  the  Indian 


16* 


mmm 


174 


TEJS  rORTURE. 


girl  scarce  moved  —  waiting  for  the  deep-toned 
music  to  awake  again.  It  came  not^  and  she 
murmured  in  the  air,  "  Mother,  mother  hear !" 

The  haughty  bearing  of  Le  Loup  had  passed 
dway;  the  keen  eye,  that  had  gazed  unmoved 
upon  the  flashing  tjomahawk,  was  dimmed  and 
s.oftened ;  his  head  riested  upon  his  breast.  •  He 
was  wrapt  in  prayer.  He  was  the  savage  warrior 
no  longer,  but  the  Christian, 

At  length,  from  the  council-lodge  came  faintly 
swelling  the  voice  of  the  young  novice,  and 
alternately  responding  the  full  chorus  of  the 
Hurons.  They  were  reciting  the  litany.  Sadly 
struck  the  tones  of  his  young  companion's  voice 
upon  the  ear  of  the  Jesuit,  They  were  weak 
and  tremulous.  Morning  Flower  listened — was 
it  the  warrior's  death-song  ?  Never  before,  in 
the  villages  of  her  tribe^  uarl  such  chant  Jbeen 
raised  by  those  who  were  about  to  die.  The 
Jesuit  and  Le  Loup  joined  in  the  responses,  and 
the  solemn  ^*  Miserere  nobis  ^'  rose  distinct  and 
clear.  The  maiden  hung  in  wrapt  attention  on 
the  alternate  sounds  of  many  voices  mingling  in 
heartfelt  prayer.  Thus  passed  the  autumn  suii- 
Mi. 


W 


*u 


I 


f** 


K. 


I 


THE   TORTURE. 


176 


Ahasistari  sat  alone  in  his  rocky  hiding-place.. 
Ever  and  anon  he  cast  a  meaning  glance  towards 
the  west,  where  the  sky  was  yet  tinged  with  gold, 
although  the  orb  of  day  had  disappeared.  Then 
he  rested  his  head  upon  his  knees  and  remained 
immovable.  Hi?  rifle  lay  at  his  feet,  and  his 
remaining  arms  upon  it,  as  if  he  had  just  been 
preparing  them  carefully  for  immediate  use. 
Twilight  came,  still  the  chief  moved  not.  At 
length  he  arose,  and  approaching  the  entrance  of 
the  cavern,  looked  out  upon  the  forest,  listening 
intently  for  some  welcome  sound — nothing  struck 
upon  his  ear  save  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  aod 
the  low  swinging  of  the  overhanging  branches. 
There  was  silence  in  the  vast  forest ;  the  hum  of 
the  little  insect,  as  it  uttered  its  evening  prayer, 
was  the  only  sound  of  living  thing  that  broke 
upon  the  solitude.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  that 
a  shadow  of  doubt  passed  across  the  brow  of  th^ 
warrior  It  occurred  to  iiim  that  his  party  might 
have  been  cut  off.  He  could  not  doubt  but  that 
Watook  had  collected  a  force  and  followed  in 
pursuit ;  and  that  Quickfoot,  his  first  messenger, 
had  fallen  in  with  them,  as  otherwise  the  saga' 


176 


THE   TORTURE, 


cious  Huron  would  have  returned  days  ago,  to 
share  the  fortunes  of  his  chief.  Perhaps  his  last 
messenger  had  missed  the  trail  in  the  forest,  and 
for  a  time  the  chief  almost  regretted  that  he  had 
not  dared  the  risk  consequent  upon  the  conceal- 
ment of  so  many  men  near  the  village,  accom- 
panied, as  it  was,  with  the  advantage  of  their 
proximity  in  case  a  sudden  opportunity  of  rescue 
presented  itself.  It  was  already  time  that  the 
party  should  have  reached  the  place  of  his  con- 
cealment which  he  had  designated  as  the  point 
of  rendezvous.  But  hours  might  yet  elapse 
before  the  torture  would  begin,  for  although  he 
did  not  know  the  exact  result  of  the  counciFs 
deliberations,  he  felt  that  there  was  little  doubt 
of  the  condemnation  of  Father  Laval  and  the 
other  prisoners ;  and  that  their  lives  hung  upon 
a  thread  liable  to  be  broken  at  any  moment  by 
the  whim  or  caprice  of  the  savages.  As  he  cast 
his  eye  around,  indistinctly  it  caught  the  radiance 
of  a  stream  of  light  illuminating  the  mist  that 
hung  above  the  village.  Taking  up  his  arms  he 
descended  to  the  forest  below,  and  a  few  moments' 
walk  brought  him  to  a  place  whence  he  could 


imm 


rinrniii  «iWiiiMiriiiiMiiii 


THE   TORTURE, 


177 


catch  a  glimpse  of  the  lodges,  and  at  the  same 
time  be  near  the  path  to  tte  rendezvous.  The 
glare  of  a  large  fire  flashed  up  towards  the  dark- 
ening sky,  and  tinged  with  red  the  waving 
branches  of  the  forest.  Two  figures  were  still 
bound  to  the  stakes,  and  groups  of  boys  and 
men  were  loitering  about,  seemingly  awaiting 
some  approaching  event. 

"The  Hurons  must  speed  on,  or  they  will 
come  too  late,^^  exclaimed  Ahasistari  bitterly,  as 
he  stretched  himself  upon  the  ground. 

The  fire  flashed  out  more  brightly  now,  for 
some  hand  had  cast  more  fuel  on  it;  and  the 
light  of  the  flame  played  around  the  mild  face  of 
the  Jesuit  as  he  stood  bound  to  the  stake.  His 
high,  bold  forehead  seemed  to  catch  the  floating 
beams,  which  lingered  round  it,  like  a  saintly 
halo  of  coming  glory.  Ahasistari  recognized  the 
form  of  Father  Laval,  even  <^t  that  distance,  and, 
looking  for  a  moment  in  cixcttce,  exclaimed : 

"  They  will  come  too  late !  there  will  be  one 
more  stake  and  one  more  torture  I  My  father,  I 
swear  to  thee  that  Ahasistari  will  share  thy  for- 
tunes, whether  of  death  or  life !  *'  and  he  aroee 

M 


mmmn^ 


mmmmm 


iimpi 


Mf 


■*w*n"w"i«fiW»«p<B«f^wpm 


■"F'l'M- 


J78 


rjy^   TORTURE 


and  turned  towards  the  village.  Suddenly  he 
paused,  and  cast  his  eyes  to  the  northeast  as  if  he 
would  penetrate  the  dark  veil  that  stretched  before 
him  ;  then  he  laid  his  ear  to  the  very  ground  and 
listened.  At  length  casting  his  rifle  upon  the  sod, 
he  sat  down,  and  shrouding  his  face  in  his  hands, 
remained  still  and  motionless  as  a  statue. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  Mohawks  were  about  to 
anticipate  the  hour  of  final  torture.  The  pris- 
oners were  brought  out,  one  by  one,  and  bound 
to  the  stakes  until  the  eight  were  occupied.  The 
crowd  began  to  increase,  and  new  fires  were 
raised.  The  women  gathered  the  fagots  nearer. 
Father  Laval  looked  sadly  upon  these  prepara- 
tions ;  but  the  Huron,  Le  Loup,  perceiving  what 
was  passing  in  his  mind,  said  in  broken  French : 

*^  Kot  yet,  my  father,  not  yet.  The  Mohawk 
is  not  so  merciful !  he  loves  hours  of  torture  I  " 

"Oh  God!  give  us  grace  to  die  worthily!" 
exclaimed  the  Jesuit,  and  then  resumed  his  silent 
prayer. 

Darkness  was  deepening,  but  the  lights  of  the 
blazing  fires  rushed  up  fitfully  to  heaven,  casting 
a  red  gleam  upon  the  scene  around,  and  making 


THE  TORTURE. 


179 


the  ferocious  Mohawks,  as  they  flitted  about  in 
tJieir  fell  work,  resemble  so  many  fiends  at  their 
infernal  orgies.  The  prisoners  were  stripped  of 
their  clothing,  and  the  work  of  torture  began. 
Snatching  up  burning  pieces  of  wood,  the 
savages  held  them  close  to  the  naked  skin  until 
its  surface  blistered  with  the  slow  heat;  then,  as 
the  swollen  part  became  dead  and  senseless  to  the 
lesser  torture,  they  pressed  the  live  coal  into  the 
raw  flesh  until  it  hissed,  and  fumed,  and  cracked, 
while  the  groan  of  intense  agony  arose  from  the 
lips  of  the  white  sufferers.  The  stern  Indian 
endured  in  silence.  Father  Laval,  as  the  rWl 
cinders  pierced  his  flesh,  elevated  his  soul  to 
God,  and  dwelt  upon  the  sufferings  of  him  whose 
brow  had  borne  a  crown  of  thorns,  whose  hands 
and  feet  had  been  torn  with  nails,  whose  precious 
side  had  been  opened  with  a  spear.  "Jesus, 
Mary,  and  Joseph,^^  were  ever  on  his  lips,  and 
his  upraised  spirit  seemed  at  last  to  forsake  and 
kmve  behind  it  the  sorrow  and  sufferings  of  earth; 
and  to  float  already  upwards  through  a  sea  of 
ineffable  delights. 

Rene  Bourdoise,  reserved  for  future  death,  did 


mmp 


-*^-. 


■  wi  «i>   n' 


O.^ 


ac=ifi 


180 


rjjjy   TORTURE. 


not  escape  from  present  torture.  His  tormentors 
surrounded  him,  and  forced  into  his  tender  skin 
small  splinters  of  pitch-pine,  and,  when  a  num- 
ber had  been  pressed  in  thus,  they  applied  blazing 
torches  to  the  parts  which  obtruded,  and  the 
dark  flame  ran  swiftly,  from  one  to  another, 
along  the  bristling  surface,  until  it  became  a 
mass  of  fire.  In  vain  the  sufifering  youth  strug- 
gled to  escape ;  his  bands  only  permitted  him  to 
wind  round  and  round  the  stake ;  but,  whichever 
way  he  turned,  blows  met  him  or  blazing  knots  of 
pine.  Thus  eight  victims  suffered — ten  thou- 
sand deaths  were  they  enduring,  and  yet  so  skil- 
ful v^as  the  Indian  in  his  torture  that  death 
itself  could  not  relieve  them.  The  novice,  weak 
from  his  long  fatigues,  yet  sore  from  former 
wounds  and  sufferings,  at  length  became  ex- 
hausted, and  hung  supported  by  his  bands  alone. 
Father  Laval,  moving  in  the  midst  of  his  tor- 
tures wound  the  stake,  began  to  pray  aloud : 

"  The  pale-face  warrior  sings  his  death -song," 
said  Kiohba,  "how  many  warriors  hath  he 
slain  ?  How  many  scalps  has  he  taken  ?  He  is 
a  woman !   a  slave !   a  dog ! "  and  the  shouts 


a«K.   .  ta|>»«.4lto*>..'«»j. 


THE  TORTURE. 


181 


of  the  infuriated   mob   drowned  t];ie  voice  of 
the   priest. 

In  the  tent  of  Kiodego,  the  chief,  sat  a 
wounded  man,  faint  and  weak ;  his  ftrm  reclined 
against  a  pile  of  furs,  his  hands  covered  his  face, 
his  breathing  was  deep  and  stern,  but  there  was 
no  other  mark  of  life  about  him.  At  his  feet 
sat  an  Indian  maiden  —  Morning  Flower  was 
weeping ! 

Still  on  rang  the  furious  shout  of  the  wild 
savage  —  on  went  the  fearful  torture  —  the  fiend- 
ish dance  went  on.  But  loudest  of  all  arose 
above  the  tumult  the  shrill  voices  of  the  beldames 
as  they  gathered  around  Le  Loup.  The  Indian 
heeded  them  not ;  he  was  preparing  himself  to 
die.  Then  for  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  the  frenzy 
of  the  Mohawks  was  dying  away,  but  it  soon 
broke  out  in  renewed  fury,  and  the  various 
crowds  drew  off  to  hurl  the  tomahawk. 

"See/'  said  Kiohba,  "how  a  brave  can 
strike ! "  and  he  repeated  the  feat  of  skill  he  had 
before  performed.  With  a  laugh  of  scorn,  an- 
other Mohawk  stepped   forth,  and  brandishing 

his  weapon,  exclaimed : 
16 


w 


182 


THE  TORTURE, 


"You  have  grazed  his  head,  I  will  drive  the  ^^ 
^  ears  of  the  blackgown  into  the  stake." 

The  Mohawk  aimed  at  Father  Laval,  who 
^  gazed  upoiu  him  almost  unconsciously.  The 
moment  was  one  of  deep  peril;  no  matter  how 
skilful  the  aim,  a  sudden  motion  of  the  victim, 
an  involuntary  start  would,  insfiead  of  mutilation,, 
'  bring  death.  It  was  a  feat  of  nice  and  precise 
skill,  and  the  Mohawk  measured  his  distance 
carefully,  and  drew  back  his  arm. 

Suddenly  the  peal  of  a  rifle  broke  upon  the 
air,  and  then  another  and  another,  in  quick  suc- 
cession, flashed  from  the  forest,  and  a  wild  and 
exulting  shout  broke  out.  Down  came  the  fierce 
Mohawk  —  another  and  another  fell  —  whilst 
the  whole  northern  circle  of  the  forest  seemed 
blazing  with  continuous  flashes.  Hushed  was 
the  voice  of  the  warrior  —  mute  the  shrill  tongue 
of  woman  —  terror-stricken,  they  clustered  to- 
gether. Their  rifles,  and  bows  and  arrows  were 
in  their  cabins ;  there  was  a  scattering  in  wild 
affright  to  obtain  their  arms ;  one  figure  alone 
sprung  towards  the  bound  prisoners,  tomahawk 
in  hand. 


I  !-■ 


THE  TORTURE. 


188 


-V. 


Over  the  wild  peal  of  battle  rose  the  Arm  voice 
of  Ahdsistari,  and  the  Hiirons  sprung  out  from 
their  covers  to  the  charge,  to  strike  the  effective 
blow  before  the  Mohawks  could  rally.  Out  from 
the  impenetrable  darkness  bounded  these  dusky 
figures,  rushing  on,  wii-.i  wild  and  exulting 
shouts,  to  cut  off  the  entrance  to  the  cabins ; 
one,  a  lithe  and  youthful  form,  shaking  fiercely 
over  his  head  his  small  steel  axe,  leaped  forward 
to  the  prisoners.  Watook  was  rushing  to  the 
rescue. 

Kiohba  pressed  on  in  his  fell  purpose.  He 
reached  the  side  of  the  novice,  he  wound  his 
hand  in  his  long  hair,  he  bent  back  his  head, 
and,  glaring  fiendishly  into  his  face,  he  seemed 
to  make  him  die  by  slow  and  fearful  agony ; 
then  his  weapon  flashed  above  him,  and  came 
down  with  a  sullen  crash,  and  the  form  of  the 
poor  novice  sunk  lifeless,  supported  by  the  withes 
that  bound  him  to  the  stake.  Kiohba  unwound 
his  hand  from  his  locks,  and  tore  the  scalp  from 
his  mangled  brow ;  then  he  turned  towaixls  the 
Jesuit.  Le  Loup  struggled  to  burst  his  bands, 
but  his  iron  strength  would  not  avail  him;  iu 


184 


TEH  TORTURE. 


helpless  agony  he  had  looked  on.  At  that  mo- 
ment a  well-known  voice  was  in  his  ear ;  a  single 
heavy  stroke  severed  the  cord  that  bound  himj 
and  the  tall  Huron,  tossing  up  his  arms  to 
heaven,  as  if  glorying  in  the  thought  of  freedom 
once  again,  sprung  on  to  the  rescue.  The  fierce 
Mohawk  was  already  by  the  side  of  the  priest; 
•his  arm  was  outstretched  to  aim  the  fatal  blow, 
when  Le  Loup,  like  a  wolf  upon  hi':  prey^ 
bounded  on  him.  Down  came  the  two  powerful 
savages  —  the  armed  and  the  unarmed  —  but 
life  and  retribution  nerved  the  heart  of  the  Hu- 
ron, and  strung  his  sinews.  The  weapon  of 
Kiohba  was  dashed  from  his  grasp  as  he  fell  to 
the  earth,  and  he  sought  for  the  knife  in  his 
girdle.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  doubtful  which 
'would  conquer.  Over  and  over,  the  two  rolled 
swiftly  upon  -the  ground.  At  length  the  hand 
of  Le  Loup  rested  upon  the  knife  of  his  foe;  in 
a  moment  more  it  gleamed  in  the  light,  and  was 
buried  in  the  heart  of  the  Mohawk.  The  strong 
grasp  of  Kiohba  relaxed,  and,  casting  off  his 
nerveless  hand,  the  Huron  arose  from  the  fearful 
struggle.  So  rapid  had  it  been  that  the  last 
prisoner  was  just  released. 


h 


TUB  TORTURE. 


186 


<I  I 


l^"  '■ 


Father  Laval  cast  himself  upon  his  knees  in 
prayer,  while  the  Hurons  caught  up  what  arms 
they  could  find,  and,  headed  by  Le  Loup,  dashed 
on  towards  the  spot  where  AJiasistari  and  his  fol- 
lowers were  contending  with  superior  numbers* 
The  blaze  of  the  fires  cast  a  fearful  light  upon 
the  battle-scene,  seeming  to  double  the  numbers 
of  the  combatants,  and  to  swell  their  forms  into 
gigantic  size.  Two  powerful  Mohawks  were 
rushing  towards  their  cabins  for  their  arms ;  the 
chief  of  the  Hurons  intercepted  them.  The  first 
attempted  to  close  with  him,  but  a  single  blow  of 
the  tomahawk  stretched  him  lifeless  at  his  feet: 
the  second  was  upon  him  before  he  could  recover 
from  his  ef*Srt,  and  aimed  a  stroke  at  his  head^ 
The  Huron  warded  it  skilfully,  and  they  closed. 
The  struggle  was  terrific,  but  was  short,  £uid 
Ahasistari,  as  he  quitted  the  dead  body  of  the 
Mohawk,  cast  a  glance  upon  the  scene  of  battle. 

Fearful  had  been  the  first  onslaught  of  the 

Hi^/'ons.     They  had  met  their  foes ;  as  in  panic, 

fh^j  broke  away  towards  their  wigwams,  aTid  hy 

tht  r^ry  of  their  assault,  had  driven  them  baijk 

to  the  open  space.     Here  they  began  to  rally  and 
16* 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.4 

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mmm 


m  fnii|Liiiiii,  J  y,,njini 


186 


TffS  TORTURE.     ' 


to  fieht  with  something  of  their  aocustomed 
braveV  An  Ixdia.,  taken  by  surprise,  can  sel- 
dom  recover,  and  the  Mohawks  waged  an  un* 
equal  battle  with  their  fierce  and  determined 
assa-ilants;  but  for  their  superior  numbers,  the 
rout  would  have  been  instantaneous  and  terrific 
They  began  to  rally ;  the  women,  and  children, 
and  old  men  appeared  upon  the  scene,  the  women 
bearing  the  rifles,  and  the  bows  and  arrows  of  the 
warriors.  With  renewed  energy  the  Mohawks 
fought,  armed  as  they  were  with  tomahawks  and 
clubs ;  scarcely  a  shot  pealed  upon  the  air,  and, 
in  the  stern  battle  of  man  to  man,  no  cry  broke 
forth.  Suddenly  upon  the  stillness  came  the 
loud  blast  of  a  horn  from  the  southern  portion  of 
the  forest,  echoing  and  re-echoing  in  the  hills  to 
the  north ;  then  a  terrific  shout,  and,  high  above 
the  rest,  the  battle  -  cry — "  Champlain  a  nous ! 
Champlain!" 

Sweeping  down  the  sward  rushed  a  band  of 
dark  figures  that  seemed,  in  the  flickering  light, 
of  countless  numbers,  while  the  loud  and  deafen- 
ing blast  of  the  horn  still  rang  on,  and  ever,  as  it 
paused,  the  battle-cry,  "Champlain I  Cham, 
plain !  ^^  broke  6ut. 


.,) 


( ( 


f .. 


TSJB  TOBTUBS. 


187 


I  i 


Th6  Mohawk  warriors  stood  aghast.  Had  the 
dead  really  arisen?  Had  the  great  medic&e 
accepted  their  challenge^  and  called  the  mighty 
warrior  from  his  tomb  to  the  rescue?  Was  it 
a  ghastly  troop,  with  horrible  sounds  of  un- 
earthly import,  that  came  upon  them?  Thdr 
arms  dropped  nerveless,  and  they  paused  in 
their  onslaught — whilst  the  Hurons  renewed 
their  exulting  cries,  and  charged  once  liaore 
%pon  them;  The  fire  now  gleamed  out  fiercely, 
stirred  by  a  passing  breath  of  wind,  and  tibe 
fitful  lig^ht  discovered  to  the  frio^htened  Mo- 
hawks  the  feoe  and  form  of  a  whitman  bound- 
ihg  forward,  and  waving  his  glistening  blade 
above  his  head. 

^'Champlainl  ChamplainI  Mohawk  dogs  I'' 
shouted  the  figure  in  the  Iroquois  tongue,  as  he 
dashed  into  their  midst,  striking  down  the  first 
he  met,  with  his  long  and  curved  knife. 

"The  dead!  the  dead!  Champlain I "  ex- 
claimed the  paralyzed  Mohawks,  and  broke 
away  from  the  field  of  battle.  Women  and 
children,  old  men  and  warriors,  mindful  of  the 
scenes  of  the  council,  fled  wildly  off,  veiling 


mmmfmmimmmm 


mmrfmrnmrn 


■ipppppapiapii 


188 


TffE  TOR  TUBE. 


their  eyes  from  him  whom  they  believed  tc? 
have  arisen  from  the  tomb:  still  in  their  ears 
rang  the  cry  of  '^  Champlain !  Champlain  I,'^  and 
the  relentless  Frenchman^  with  his  band,  smiting 
right  and  left,  pursued  them.  Terror  lent  wings 
to  their  speed,  and  they  scattered  deep  in  the 
forest. 

By  the  homes  of  their  early  years— by  the 
council-fire,  where  their  &thers  had  sat  —  upon 
the  turf  whei^,  in  childhood's  hours,  they  bad 
sp6rted  —  still  gathered  a  stern  band  of  veteran 
Mohawks.  They  were  few  in  number  —  few^ 
than  their  foes  —  but  they  were  true  and  un- 
yielding braves.  For  a  moment,  when  the  rout 
began,  the  battle  had  ceased ;  and  the  two  parties 
now  stood  gazing  at  one  another  in  fierce  defi- 
ance. The  Mohawks  were  armed  with  no 
weapons  but  those  of  a  hand-to-hand  fight  — 
and  Ahasistari,  casting  aside  his  rifle  with  a 
noble  generosity,  spruiig  forward  to  meet  his  foe 
upon  an  equality  of  arms.  Knife  in  hand  he 
grappled  with  a  warrior;  the  Hurons  followed 
his  example,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  seen  a 
struggling  crowd   of  indistinguishable  figures; 


«pp 


mmm 


i 


TBE  TORTURE. 


189 


here  and  there,  with  a  convulsive  spring,  some 
form  would  cease  its  motion,  and  lie  still  and 
silent  as  the  sod  it  pressed.  The  rest  still  strug- 
gled on.  At  length,  from  out  the  melee  crept  an 
unarmed  savage,  wounded,  coiling  himself  slowly 
along  the  ground  as  if  in  dying  agony.  He 
reached  the  corner  of  the  lodge^  and  passing  be- 
hind its  shadow,  sprung  quickly  to  his  feet.  His 
eye  fell  upon  the  kneeling  figure  of  Father  La- 
val as  he  bent  him  oyer  a  dying  Huron,  and 
tearing  off  a  portion  of  his  belt,  he  stole  quietly 
behind  him.  In  a  moment  he  had  s:airired  him 
-in  another  hewashunying  him  ^^dly,  in 
spite  of  his  resistance,  from  the  spot.  The  priest 
attempted  to  cry  out,  but  it  was  in  vain ;  au 
casting  a  lingering  look  towards  the  group  where 
his  friends  were  fighting  within  reach  of  him  — 
yet  ignorant  of  his  danger  —  resigned  himself  to 
his  fiite. 


'ir-^''  ■•~T- 


'»J!!P:'-"-^"?^J»'i*-" ;'■"  'f'  ■■  i|'""'^IS"?J  .'^-.''-...''.'lllUWIiJUI-lf. !<S«,J-iJi.ii-p!fJiJJ 


r     « 


h 


GHAPTEB  XL 

THE   WREATH  OF   WILD  FLOWERS. 

[HASISTARI  and  nis  foes  were  Strug« 
gling ;  the  combat  was  fierce ;  but,  one  by 
one,  the  Mohawks  were  overpowered  or 
slain,  and  the  Hurons  were  left  undisputed  mas- 
ters of  the>  village.  The  noise  of  battle  had 
<!^ased J  only  the  mtwin  of  pain  broke  the  i^illness 
of  the  scene.  Few,  but  the  wounded  and  tfie 
4ead,  were  there  besides  themselves.  Their  chief 
looked  around  in  vain  for  the  Jesuit  and  the 
novice.  He  called  out  their  names ;  they  did  not 
answer.  They  searched  the  village;  none  were 
there  but  the  feeble,  and  those  who  were  unable 
to  flee.  They  turned  in  sorrow  to  the  fires  of 
torture.  Bound  to  his  stake,  supported  almost 
upright  by  his  bands,  like  life  but  for  the  crushed 

and  bleeding  brow,  was  the  dead  body  of  the 

190       ^ 


ianpRPii 


BE 


W^ 


THE    WREATH  OF   WIIr^D  FLOWERS. 

gentle  novice.  Softly  they  loosened  the  cords, 
softly  as  if,  even  in  death,  they  would  not  ruffle 
the  placid  slumber  of  those  pale  and  delicate 
features.  They  laid  him  down  upon  the  turf, 
and  sought  again  for  the  Jesuit.  He  was  not 
there.  Catching  up  a  burning,  brand,  Ahasistari 
examined  the  edge  of  the  forest;  suddenly  he 
uttered  a  low  exclamation,  and  darted  into  its 
depths.  The  glare  of  the  torch,  as  its  flame 
tossed  wildly  in  his  swift  course  flitting  past  the 
dark  trunks  of  trees,  looked  like  a  red  meteor  in 
its  course. 

The  Hurons  silently  gathered  their  dead  from 
the  field,  and  laid  them  down  by  the  body  of  the 
young  novice.  Then  they  stood  around  them 
solemnly.  A  few  moments  passed  thus  in  stern 
meditation;  when,  gliding  noiselessly  into  the^ 
group,  and  pressing  aside  the  rest,  two  figures 
approached  close  beside  the  body  of  the  novice. 
A  low  but  joyful  exclamation  welcomed  them. 
Father  Laval  heeded  it  not.  The  steel  axe, 
which  Ahasistari  bore,  was  yet  dripping  with 
warm  blood ;  it  told  the  Hurons  the  story  of 
the  rescue.  One  by  one  came  back  the  scattered 
warriors  from  the  pursuit,  and,  last  of  all/  Le 


• 


^^«p 


'J^ 


192     TEE    WREATB  OF   WILD   FLOWERS. 

Loup  and  Daring  Scout.  Father  Lava)  knelt 
beside  the  body  of  his  young  companion ;  tears" 
Ounrned  his  eyes,  and  the  voice  of  prayer,  whioh 
m^  from  his  lips  for  the  departed  spirit,  came 
broken  with  sighs  and  indistinct  with  grief, 
porches  of  blazing  pine,  placed  by  the  silent 
Hurons  at  the  head  and  feet  of  the  dead,  were 
sending  up  their  bright  flame,  capped  with  dark 
cWds  of  smoke— ^ fit  emblem  of  the  life  of  uaan. 
Around  knelt  the  Christian  warriors,  mingling 
their  prayers  with  those  (rf  the  priest  of  ^A 
The  countenances  of  the  Huron  braves  were 
stern  and  solemn;  no  other  mark  of  grief  ap- 
p^red  upon  them.  Kneeling  at  the  feet  of  tbi^ 
departed  were  Le  Loup  and  Watook,  and  behind 
th^m  the  stern  scout.  As  he  looked  upon  the 
pale  features  of  the  novice,  a  tear  stole  silently 
down  his  hard  and  weather-beaten  face,  and 
dung  amid  the  scarred  wrinkles  until  it  milled 
with  the  air,  and  arose  to  heaven,  carrying  with 
it,  like  perfume,  to  the  skie8  the  unspoken  prayed 
of  the  melting  heart.  L'Espion  Hardi  wad 
thinking  of  the  gallant  son  whom  he  had  thii^ 
buried   in   the  forest    A   hand   touched   him 


- .%,' 


^mmmmi 


m^^^ 


THE    WREATH  OF    WILD   FLO  WE  EST.     193 

lightly  upon  the  shoulder ;  when  he  look^  iip, 
Ahasistari  stood  boside  him^  and  beckoned  him  to 
follow  him.  After  they  had  gone  some  distance 
from  the  spot,  the  chief  paused,  and,  pointing  to 
the  group,  said : 

"  L'Espion  Hardi  is  of  the  race  of  the  pale- 
face. It  becomes  him  to  look  to*  the  burial  of 
his  dead.  See !  the  good  blaokgown  is  wrapt 
in  sorrow !  the  words  of  the  chief  would  disturb 
his  spirit.     The  braves  will  bury  their  brothers ! '' 

"Huron,  I  am  but  a  rude  forester.  I  have 
lived  in  the  woods  till  I  am  like  the  Indian 
rather  than  my  own  blood  and  race" — 

"Good!'*  said  the  chief,  nodding  his  head 
approvingly;  "Daring  Scout  is  the  brother  of 
the  Hurons ! " 

"Chief,"  continued  Pierre,  "the  youth  must 
be  buried  like  a  Christian  white  man." 

"The  Hurons  are  Christians,"  said  the  Indian 
slowly. 

"True,"  replied  the  scout;  "your  brothers 
must  not  be  turned  into  the  earth  like  the 
heathen  Mohawk  I     "  We  must  bury  them  side 

by  side  with  the  youth  t" 

It  N  •  '  •»  •    •  - 


i  - 


194     ^^^   WBJSATM  Oy  WILD  FLOW^MS. 

~  ''Huron  and  pale-faoe — all  the  same  in  the 
^und— -all  the  same. before  God!/'  said  tliie 
;diief  etucnestly. 

"Not  the  same  here  on  the  earth  though!" 
said  the  scout,  clinging  to  the  idea  of  the  su- 
periority of  his  race. 

''No?  Indian  tell  truth!  Indian  don't  steal; 
be  loves  Gk)d  and  prays  to  him;  what  more  pale- 
fece?'* 

For  a  moment  the  scout  was  silent;  at  length 
he  said :  "  True,  Huron,  but  the  pale  face  is  richer 
and  stronger;  he  buildil  splendid  cities,  makes 
fine  houses,  wears  xich  clothes,  drinks  costly 
tnnes.''  The  scout  ceased,  as  he  caught,  the 
meaning  glance  of  the. Huron's  eye.  .  But  that 
look  passed  away  in  a  moment,  and  Ahasistari 
said  solemnly:  *r^  > 

"  What  ffood  all  that— there  and  there  f^'  as 
he  pointed  to  the  earth,,  and  then  to  the  sky. 
The  scout  was  silent,  and  the  chief,  turning 
away,  said;  "Jjet  us  go!"  *     , 

"  Yes,  it  is  tim^  to  dig  their  graves;  "and  the 
two  entered  the  forest. 

"  It  shall  be,"  said  Ahasistari, "  where  tise  foot 
of  the  Mohawk  shall  not  tread  upon  thi^."  ^v 


— '^w  ilhai,-,,,iuiM»  III  ••iiiuii  i.awijtejgSfctsiy 


.A^.j.',j;.t^j.^ 


■..z^^;.    i^t^-^.-^yy       V.^\,  ,/l 


TBS   WREATH  OF  WILD  FLOWERS.     195 

Selediing  a  suitable  spot,  the  Huroii  and  ike 
SVenohman  turned  up  the  sod  with  their  hatdi- 
ets,  and  in  a  short  time  had  scooped  a  restinff^ 
place  for  the  dead.  Then  they  retraced  tbeur 
steps  to  the  village,  and  joined  the  group.  Bttde 
biers  were  made  of  the  branch^  of  trees  streWed 
with  the  softest  foliage,  that^  the  lifeless  corpse 
might  repose  gently  there.  In  one  of  the  lodges 
had  been  found  the  sacks  in  which,  slung  upon 
their  shoulders,  the  missionaries  carried  thdl' 
vestments  and  the  sacared  vessels  in  their  ^jour^ 
neys  through  the  boundless  forests.'  i' 

In  his  white  surplice  they  robed  the  gentle 
novice ;  in  that^  pure  garmfait  in  which  he  had  so 
often  served  at  the  holy  sacrifice  they  wrapped-' 
him  for  the  solemn  burial.  His  hands  were 
meekly  crossed  upon  his  breast.  They  raised 
him  sadly,  and  laid  him  on  his  bier;  tEey  lifted 
it  and  strode  forward.  ^ 

^At  that  instant  a  "slight  i^male  figute  piei^ed 
through 'die  group,  and  ga^ed  for  a  momdit  on 
the  face  of  the  dead.  Then  she  placed  a  wreath 
oi  wild  flowers  upon  his  brow,  and,  starting 
*-  away,  the  wail  of « the  Indiui  girl  a^oie  for  di« 
dq»rted. 


19i8     TSM   WREATH  OF   WILD  FL0WBR8. 


r 
*•■■ 


V,\ 


^  Bearing  torches  in  their  hands,  the  procession 
wound  solemnly  into  the  forest,  and  paused 
beside  the  new-made  grave.  Slowly  and  care- 
fully they  laid  him  in  his  silent  resting-place, 
while  the  light  of  the  torches  beamed  upon  his 
angelio  face,  and  reflected  from  the  glowing 
colors  of  the  wild  flowers  on  his  brow,  his  cheek 
seemed  to  bloom  with  a  tinge  of  life.  He  had 
padsed  into  death  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of 
prayer;  its  heavenly  radiance  still  hovered 
around  the  chisell<^  features.  Beautiful  in 
death,  crowned  with  the  wreath  of  flowers,  and 
robed  in  unspotted  white,  the  young  martyr  lay, 
a  halo  of  unearthly  glory  seeming  to  the  rapt 
beholders  already  to  glow  around  his  brow.  By 
the  side  of  the  gentle  novice  they  stretched  the 
scarred  forms  of  the  two  Huron  warriors.  In 
silence  their  brothers  laid  them  down,  to  mingle 
their  dust  with  one  of  another  race,  yet  one  in 
fidth,'  and  hope,  and  charity ;  one  by  the  bond 
of  that  church  which  gathers  alike  all  souls 
within  her  fold. 

^^  De  profundis  clamavi  ad  te,  Domine !  '^  arose 
in  die  deep  V7ice  of  the  priest,  and  the  Hurons 
responded.  ^V 


i.»Mi  iiiiiiiM.iiiMipeMii 


1^3 


TffJS   WREATH  OF   WILD  FLOWERS.      197 


I 


O I  how  solemn  was  the  burial  ceremony  there, 
in  the  hour  of  midnight,  by  the  wild  gleam  of 
torches/  under  the  forest-trees,  with  the  dusky- 
forms  of  the  Hurons  grouped  around  the  grave. 

It  was  done.  Upon  the  cold  bof»om  of  the 
dead  fell  the  clodded  earth,  which  was  to  be  the 
dwelling-place  and  home  of  the  body  until  its 
mouldering  dust  should  mingle  with  it.  Care- 
fully they  replaced  each  p^od,  and,  above  the 
whole,  strewed  the  fallen  leaves  again  so  skil- 
fully that  it  might  never  more  be  found  save  by 
those  who  now  looked  upon  it.  As  they  finished, 
a  figure  flitted  from  the  spot ;  the  Indian  maiden 
had  been  gazing  on.  the  scene.  In  silence  they 
wended  their  way  back  to  th^  village,  Ahasistari 
and  Le  Loup  in  the  rear,  covering  every  foot- 
step, and  removing  every  tra^  of  their  passage. 
When  tney  had  reached  the  centre  of  the  village, 
the  chief  addressed  the  priest: 

"Father,  there  is  little  time  to  spare;   the 
routed  Mohawks  may  reach  the  nearest  villages 
of  their  tribe  by  daybreak,  and  we  have  many 
days^ march  before  us! '^ 
'    "I  am  ready,  my  son,"  said  the  Jesuit  sadly, 


■^ 


"^ffi^ 


•^mm^mm 


mm^immmmmmmm 


L        i 


198     TME   WREATH  OF   WILD  FLOWEB^S 

for  the  death  6{  his  youkig  companion  weighed 
Iwavily  upon  hifn.  As  he^  spoke,  Morning 
FISwer  stood  before  him,  and,  in  a  low  tone, 
mentioned  the  iiame  of  Kiske^ili^,  and  pointed 
to  his  lodge.  The  Jesuit  *  followed  lier  thither, 
while  the  Hurohs  'made  their  preparations  for 
departure,  gathering  all  the  arms  at  t£e  village, 
and  destroying  iJi^m,  *  and  loading  theihselves 
with  a  supply  of  corn  for  tlhe  march.  Father 
Laval  found  the  young  Indian  stretched  upon 
his  couch,  his  face  •covered  with  his  hands. 

*^My  son,"  he  said,  "be  not  cast  down  I " 

The  Indiaiu  looked  up  proudly  •  but  the  glow 
of  spirit  passed  in  a  moment  from  his  ^he^,  and 
he  said:  >  , 

"The  home  of  Kiskepila  is  destroyed;  his 
people  are  skin,  and  he  must  lie  upon  his  bed 
helpless  as  a  woman!  Bid  the  Hurons  come; 
Kiskepila  would  die ! '^ 

At  this  moment  Ahasistari  entered,  and  stood 
behind  the  Jesuit}  dt  WHA  i^df  !%  dc^arfcure, 
and  time  ^as  pressing ;  '^but  he  waited  patiently 
till  Father  Laval  should  conclude  his  conver- 
sation.   As  soon  as  the  Mohawk  saw  him,  he 


FEE   WREATH  OF   WILD  FLOWERS,     199 

jnuBed  himself  and^  ^itb  a  look  of  proud  defi- 
ance, said: 

'^Kiskcpila  is  the  young  ei^Ie  of  His  tribe!  the 
triumph  of  the  Huron  is  but  little  without  his 
scalp.'' 

Ahasistari  did  not  move;  but  the  Jesuit 
replied:  "My  son,  do  not  entertain  auch 
thoughts;  the  Huron  does  not  desire  to  shed 
your  blood.  It  is  our  sincerest  wish  to  be  your 
friend,  and  the  friends  of  all  men  rather  than 
their  foes."     The  Huron  chief  assented. 

After  a  pause,  the  Mohawk  continued:  "My 
people  are  routed;  but  they  fled,  not  from  the 
living/ but  from  the  dead!  The  blackgown 
called  the  great  white  warrior  from  the  spinl^ 
land  to  rescue  him."  ^    ^ 

Father  Laval  listened  in  wonder,  and  repli^ : 
"  My  son,  this  is  some  wild  mistake." 

"Champlain!"  said  the  other;  "Kiskepila 
heard  the  cry,  and  saw  the  warriors  of  his  trfbe 
tvirn  like  women  from  the  face  of  the  white  man. 
Who  could  fight  the  dead  ?  " 

In  a  moment  the  whole  matter  became  appar- 
ent to  the  mind  of  the  Jesuit.    Tbe  division  of 


npapHPRRiiip 


^^^mmm 


s 


i 


m 


200     ^^^   WREATH  OF  WILD  FLOWERS, 

opinion  in  the  village^  in  regard  to  the  policy  of 
condemning  so  great  a  medicine  as  they  consid- 
ered Father  Laval,  had  made  the  taunt  of  Kiohba 
remembered;  and  when  they  heard  the  cry 
'^  Champlain  I ''  and  saw  the  assault  led  on  by  a 
white  man,  they  believed  fchat  the  chajjenge  of 
Kiohba  had  been  accepted,  and  that  the  great 
Frenchman  had  arisen  from  the  tomb  to  the 
rescue.  Whilst  the  priest  was  endeavoring  to 
explain  this  to  the  Mohawk,  Ahasistari  left  the 
lodge,  and  in  a  few  moments  returned  with 
Pierre. 

"L^Espion  Hardi,"  he  said.  The  Mohawk 
looked  upon  the  scout  for  a  moment;  then 
hiding  his  head  in  his  hands,  remained  in 
imperturbable  silence. 

"Yes I  L'Espion  Hardi,"  said  the  scout, 
"  that 's  the  name  the  Hurons  call  me,  and,  if  I 
had  not  been  delayed  in  the  swamp  ground  in 
getting  to  my  station  according  to  the  plan  of 
the  chief;  or,  if  he  had  held  his  fire  a  little 
longer  until  I  gave  the  signal,  not  a  Mohawk 
would  have  escaped.'* 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  chief.  "  But  L'Espion 
Hardi  was  delayed  in  the  forest  too." 


•  I 


mm^'mfmrttmsialim 


^iTtiyJMtf^FiP'fdJjfflBi^l^fla 


THE   WREATH  OF   WILD   FLOWERS.    201 

*^  Ahy  your  Huron  nearly  missed  the  trails  but 
we  came  in  time/' 

"  Yes.  Ahasistari  was  about  to  fulfil  his  oath, 
and  go  to  die  with  his  father  at  the  torture  fire^ 
when  the  sounds  of  the  coming  braves  struck 
upon  his  ear/'  • 

Father  Laval  addressed  a  few  kind  words  to 
the  Mohawk^  and  left  the  lodge.  The  flurons 
bound  all  those  who  were  left  at  the  village ;  and, 
having  heaped  a  mass  of  fuel  upon  the  fires  to 
impress  any  returning  stragglers  with  the  idea 
that  a  strong  force  was  still  there,  leaving  a 
broad  trail  to  the  edge  of  the  forest  on  the  north- 
west as  if  striking  to  the  waters  of  Ontario,  then 
doubling  and  striking  into  its  depth  towards  the 
northeast,  hastened  rapidly  on  their  return. 
•  The  time  which  must  elapse  before  any  pursuit 
could  begin  would  enable  them  to  escape,  pro- 
vided Father  Laval  held  out.  The  party  under 
W^atook  had,  in  order  to  be  sure  of  the  route  of 
the  Mohawks,  proceeded  to  the  scene  of  the  first 
encounter,  and  had  there  found  the  canoes  which 
had  been  concealed  in  readiness  for  another  foray. 
With  fortunate  precaution  Watook,  afl«r  observ- 


V 


■»■• '      I' 


^^F^^ 


^^Ml^P 


wm 


202  JTjrir  wEJBArii  of  wild  flowebb, 

ing  tlid  direction  of  the  trail^  had  sent  these  barks 
up  a  stream  which  flowed  into  the  St^ Jjawrenco 
fi^  llie  Mohawk  country.  Several  days'  rapid 
jotirneying,  in  whirfi  they  sought  little  sleep  or 
rest/ brought  them  to  the  spot  where  the  boats 
were  concealed.  Here  they  embarked^  and  de- 
^oending  quickly  to  the  St*  Ijawrence,  turned 
their  ^urse  once  more  with  saddened  and  chasti* 
^ed  hearts  towards  the  Huron  missions. 


i!^:'^. 


lih  iii'wi 


w*wi*f^»w'[wi  iirt » 


''■"■"■■^^■'■■^^^■"■■■■■■■■■■■■p 


-j»«w.:«»,  uj^uoii  *J^-«^«,...»to*.^.i^a.;i«.^',.^.,^ 


\:--'., 


CHAPTER  XIL 


THE  CONCLUSION, 

|EARS  passed.  Twice  had  the  i|iiows  of 
winter  &lleii ;  twice  the  blossoms  of 
spring  had  bl6omed :  sunimer  Was  upmi 
the  la&d ;  and  the  fields  and  waters  laughed  in 
glad  sunshine. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  day  that  a  group  of 
idlers,  resting -upon  the  quay  at  Quebec,  gazed 
put  listlessly  upon  the  waters,  observing  the 
motions  of  the  boater  passing  to  and  from  the 
few  vessels  lying  in  the  river.  Occasionally  a 
cahoei  paddled  by  Indians,  would  shoot  out 
from  the  shore,  and  pass  gracefully  along  the 
Waters,  as  its  occupants  bent  theil*  course  tjwards 
their  settlements ;  for  the  Christian  Indians  had 
formed  themselves  into  communities,  and  lived 
around  their  churches  and  their  priests— the 

203 


X 


"I 


204 


TSS  OONCLVBION. 


I  IN. 

flock  around  the  shepherd — within  the  bordeni 
6f  the  province. 

"  The  Indians  are  returning  to  their  homes," 
said  one  of  the  group.  "I  thought  they  would 
have  remained  in  town  to-night;  to-morrow  is 
the  festival  of  the  Assumption." 

"  True,"  said  another ;  "  but  they  are  returning 
to  celebrate  it  at  their  own  villages." 

"  They  are  very  pious  and  devout,"  continued 
the  first.  "  Their  example  is  enough  to  sharxe 
the  befcter  instructed  white." 

'^  Better  instructed  I "  said  the  second  speaker 
with  a  laugh ;  ^^  but  that  depends  upon  the  sense 
in  which  you  use  the  phrase.  They  are  unsophis- 
ticated,v  it  is  true ;  and  their  pastors,  the  Jesuits, 
have  succeeded  in  preserving  them  from  the  con- 
tamination which  60  often  follows  in  the  path  of 
the  white  man  in  his  contact  with  the  Indians. 
They  are  untaught  in  the  world's  learning,  per- 
haps, and  undervalue  it;  but  I  w^drrant  thee, 
neighbor,  they  will  repeat  the  Pater  and  the 
Ave,  and  the  creed  and  the  decalogue,  with  thee, 
and  explain  them  too,  as  well  as  thou  canst ;  and 
what  is  better  still,  neighbor,  they  practise  what 


III  I  mil  tiMiii[lii>iimMip»«M^ 


''Tflr  1""'''^^'^  ,  J..AP 


THE  CONCLUSIOK, 


205 


they  have  learned :  a  thing  which  you  and  I^  and 
many  more  of  the  '  better  instructed/  sometimes 
do  not  consider  as  necessary  as  we  ought." 

"Y^s,  I  admit  they  are  good  and  practical 
CSiristians- — thanks  to  the  zeal  and  energy  and 
purity  of  life  of  their  pastors." 

^^  Is  it  not  admirable^  this  courage  and  daring 
of  the  Jesuits^  that  led  them  into  the  forest  to 
bring  these  wanderers  to  God  ?  " 

"  They  tell  me,"  said  another,  "  that  in  France 
there  are  some  who  begin  to  rail  against  the  order 
as  proud,  intriguing — as  seeking  after  wealth 
and  power." 

"  Oh,  doubtless !  Yes,  I  have  heard  so,  neigji- 
bor.  They  seek  wealth  in  strange  places ;  here 
in  the  forest,  in  China,  in  England  on  the  scaf- 
fold. Yes,  it  is  the  wealth  of  heaven  they  are 
seeking!  Ah,  it  would  be  a  glorious  thing  to 
place* one  of  these  silken-robed  revilers  by  the 
side  of  an  humble  Jesuit  in  the  forest,  beyond 
the  great  lakes,  among  the  wild  Indians,  who 
have  never  yet  seen  the  face  of  a  white  man. 
Give  them  both  sta£P  and  scrip,  and  a  wooden 

cross — '^ 
18 


n 


« Aje,  or  bii^  iiiem  bath  to  the  i^takey  iirifll 
&e  savage  Iroquois  around  them^  tearing  their 
flesh  and  torturing  them  to  death,  as  I  have  see4' 
the  Jesuit  die,  with  a  prayer  upon  his  lipd" — 
said  a  voice  abruptly,  and  «the  speaker  rose  frono; 
a  seat  which  he  had  occupied  near  the  pmrty,  but 
concealed  from  them  by  dome  bales  of  goods,  and 
turned  his  stieps  towards  the  town.  A  pause  for 
a  moment  ensued.  . 

"Who  is  that  man? '*  asked  one  of  the group.^ 
**  Ah,  that  is  UEspUm  Hardi! ''  said  iiiie 
defender  of  the  Jesuits,  whose  name  was  Paul. 
'^  I  have  heard  it  said  that  he  was  out  some  yeard 
ago  With  a  party  of  Hurons,  who  endeavored  to 
rescue  two  missionaries  from  the  Mohawks.  It 
is  a  sad  tale;  but  it  so  often  happens  thus  in  this 
wild  land,  that  one  can  scarcely  recall  all  the 
fects  to  mind.  Yes,  one  they  saved,  Father  Jean  . 
Laval;  the  other,  a  novice,  was  already  dead  at 
the  torture-fire  when  they  became  master  of  (he 
village.  The  Daring  Scout  is  right;  bind  the 
Jesuit  and  his  reviler  to  the  stake,  and  see  who 
wiU  die  with  the  sweetest  conscience  and  the 
most  placid  smile — see  whose  soul  will  best  befit 


WwiihnirKlMgirii 


imiinminMIMij 


TS^  OOirCLUSION. 


207 


A  martyri^  Ahl  it  is  the  hour  of  death  which 
proves  the  value  of  the  past  life  ~r- which  tri^  its 
motives,  and  explains  and  illustrates  them.  That 
is  the  hour  when  cunning  is  of  no  avail;  when 
wrong  will  weigh  upon  the  conscience,  and 
wring  out  the  cry  of  horror  from  the  soul.  The 
death  of  one  Jesuit  is  worth  the  whole  lives  of 
a  thousand  of  their  revilers.  The  dying  of  the 
one,  and  the  living  of  the  other,  alike,  are 
irresistible  arguments  in  behalf  of  the  assailed 
and  the  rjpViled.* 

**  The  blood-printa  of  their  martyrs  hav^  al- 
r^y  rendered  holy  the  borders  of  New  Franqe, 
and  sanctified  and  dedicated  .to..X]^od  the  gr^t 
valley  beyond  the  western,  lakes.  They  have 
bought  it  with  their  toils  and  sufferings  I  ^V 

*  Compare  the  dying  scene  of  the  Jesuit  martyr  in  China, 
in  Japan,  amongst  the  Mohawks,  or  with  Abenakis—^eten 
upon" the  scaffold  in  the  realm  of  -Britain' — suffering  in  the 
clisseimination  of  religion,  in  the  teaching  of  morality,  with 
the  life  of  an  en^my  of  theirj9,  such  as  Su^fB^eiii  in  sowing 
broadcast  the  seed  of  immorality  and  licentiousness,  in 
spreading  infidelity,  in  assailing  Christianity,  and  battening 
upon  sin  and  sorrow.  Ah,  it  is  glorious  to  iiay»  ti^  ene^ 
mies;  they  are  th«ir  own  refiitatioii,  their  ow^  o.%^i92<s\ 
nation,  with  all  rational  Christians. 


208 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


"And  this  L'Espion  Hardi — I  have  never 
seen  him  before  —  does  he  come  often  to 
Quebec?'' 

"  It  is  very  plain  that  you  are  not  long  of 
New  France.  Of  late  he  comes  frequently  for 
ammunition^  as  he. says:  but  he  always  calls  at 
the  house  of  the  Jesuits :  for  during  that  event 
he  formed  a  reverential  affection  towards  the 
patient  and  enduring  priest^  which  the  rude 
hunter  cannot  conquer." 

"Then  Father  Laval  is  still  here?'' 

"Yes,"  said  M.  Paul;  "he  returned  from  the 
Huron  missions  some  months  since,  and  is  recruit- 
ing his  health,  which  was  much  shattered  by  the 
incessant  toils  and  labors  of  a  two  years'  mission 
among  the  wandering  tribes,  added  to  the  effects 
of  the  sufferings  he  endured  while  in  captivity 
among  the  Mohawks.  But  see!  yonder  come 
two  canoes  down  the  river  towards  the  city ;  all 
that  we  have  hitherto  observed  were  leaving  it." 

The  rest  of  the  group  directed  their  eyes  up 
the  river  upon  the  objects  indicated.  Sweeping 
majestically  around  that  point  from  which  Father 
Laval  had  bid  adieu  to  Quebec  two  years  before, 


\ 


I  iHwiaii  I    I  .j^^Mii.  ■Tf,Vf:>> 


'iMiiK ni  jMiiiWiiiii  iftiiifiiitiWriirin- 


THJB  CONCLUSION, 


209 


qame  two  oapoes,  esoh  urged  by  several  row^rg. 

Aided  by  the  current^  tbey  rapddly  neared  the 

town^  until  it  was  possible  to  distinguish  i\ih 

&oes  of  the  ocoupants*    In  the  first  canoe  stodd 

a  young  Indian  of  powerful  frame.    His  head 

was  ornamented  with  eagle  -  feathers ;  his  dr^ 

was  a  rich  robe  of  skins,  bound  round  his  waist 

with  a  finely  wo)rked  belt ;  his  fice  was  free  £hom 

paint,  and   he  was  totally   unarmed.    Behind 

him  rowed  anotl^er  Indian,  the  cross  around 

whose  neck  proclaimed  him  to  be  a  Chtistlait; 

The  second  canoe  contained  a  single  male  ard 

two   females;,  one  youthful   and    beautiful^  ill 

whom   the  freshness  of  girlhood  had  ripened 

into  fuller  bloom.     The  other  was  older,  and 

the  hand  of  time  had  alr^y  scattered  a  few 

white  hairs  among  her   thick   locks.    At   the 

bow  of  each  canoe  was  &stened  a  green  brandb, 

the  Indian  symbol  of  peace  and  amity.     The 

young  ^warrior  paused  &r  a  moment  to  £[aze 

upon  the  growing  city,_and  then  bending  a^ 

to  his  paddle,  sent  the  light  bark  on  more  fleetly. 

The  evening  sun  was  still  casting  his  glory  upon 

the  waters,  when  the  bow  of  the  first  canoe 
18*  0. 


^W" 


0     I 


^mmm 


f 


210 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


grated  on  the  sand  of  the  quay  below  the 
lookers-on. ,  The  Indian  warrior  leaped  ashore/ 
and  his  companion  drew  the  light  bark  upon 
the  beach.  In  another  moment  the  whole  part}' 
stood  together.  Then  the  Christian  Indian 
taking  the  lead^  at  a  quick  pace  turned  towards 
the  town.  It  was  too  dommon  a  sight  in 
Quebec  to  attract  any  extraordinary  attention, 
and  the  party  passed  on  unheeded.  The  young 
brave  of  the  eagle  feathers  trod  on  in  silence, 
scarce  deigning  to  notice  what  to  him  must 
have  been  wondrous  wealth  and  opulence,  but 
regardless  of  all  around  he  followed  in  the  lead 
of  his  guide.  At  length  the  Christian  Indian, 
a  Huron,  paused  before  a  house  of  some  size, 
and  after  looking  about,  as  if  to  recognize  the 
landmarks  of  the  place,  advanced  to  the  door 
and  knocked.  In  a  few  moments  it  was 
opened. 

"A  Huron  captive  from  tho  Mohawks,'^  he 
said  to  the  janitor,  ^' would  see  his  father  of  the 
blackgown.'^  The  door  was  cast  open,  and  diey 
entered.  After  a  little  delay  the  superior  came 
to  them. 


^^m 


■P" 


^mmmm 


^HT^ 


THE  CONCLUSION. 

*'  My  son,  what  is  it  that  70U  wish  ?  '*  he  fjaii 
to  the  Huron. 

"My  father/^  he  replied,  pointing  to  the 
young  brave,  "a  Mohawk  neophyte." 

Long  did  the  goo^  old  Jesuit  gaze  upon  the 
powerful  young  Mohawk,  one  of  that  terrible 
race  of  Iroquois  who  had  hitherto  resisted  the 
efforts  of  the  missionary,  and  now  heaven  had 
sent  one  to  his  door  demanding  admission  to  the 
charch. 

"Yes;  there  is  but  one,"  he  said,  speaking 
half  aloud,  "  who  can*  speak  the  Mohawk  and 
Huron  tongue;  and  though  in  ill  health,  he  is 
full  of  zeal.  Stay,"  he  continued  aloud,  "my 
children.  I  will  send  one  to  you  who  can  speak 
your  own  language,"  and  left  the  room. 

The  Mohawk  remained  cold  and  imperturbable, 
evincing  no  curiosity  as  to  what  had  been  said, 
or  anxiety  for  the  result,  though  he  had  closely 
watched  the  face  of  the  speaker.  The  females  of 
the  party  were  not  as  impassive,  but  examined 
with  wonder  the  simple  decomtions  of  the 
reception  room,  looking  with  astonishment 
upon  the  few  plain  pictures  which  adorned  the 


*^ 


mmmmmmm 


212 


Tim   COKOLUSIOir: 


walls.  At  Jefagth  a  step  was  heard  without; 
and,  through  the  opened  door,  entered  a  Jesuit. 
His  face  was  averted  as  he  came  in,  but  when 
he  had  closed  the  door  he  advanced  towards 
them.  It  was  Father  Laval.  His  countenance 
was  very  pale  and  attenuated,  and  his  hair  was 
gray :  for  the  toils  of  a  few  such  years  as  his 
had  been  will  touch  with  white,  as  surely  as 
the  placid  flow  of  mjmy.  Suddenly  the  impas- 
sive face  of  the  Mohawk  warrior  lit  up  with  a 
bright  smile ;  a  low  exclamation  of  surprise  broke 
from  his  lips,  and  he  stepped  forward  to  a  spot 
where,  from  a  window,  the  light  fell  full  upon 
his  manly  form,  and  said:         -^    ^:» 

"  Blackgown !  -^  Kiskepihi ! — Morning  FI0I7- 
er!"  ..  ■■.   ..-  x/v--.^  ....   ■;.,      ,  •    ^....,. 

n  The  Jesuit  clasped  his  hands,  and  looked 
towards  heaven,  for  the  memory  of  sad  scenes 
came  over  his  soul ;  but  in  a  moment  the  cloud 
passed,  and  joyously  he  stretchedout  hij3  hands : 

"Welcome,  Young  Ec^le I  Welcome,  gentle 
maiden!  Sad  were  the  scenes  in  which  we 
parted;  joyful  is  this  hour  in  which  you  come 
back  to  me,  like  the  fruit  of  my  captivity .*' 


I- 


THE   CONCLUSIOir. 


218 


The  Indian  maiden  wept  as  she  took  the  hand 
of  the  priest,  and  she  said :  "  In  spring-time  and  , 
in  summer,  Morning  Flo\\fer  has  strewed  friesh 
flowers  over  the  grave  of  the  young  pale-face; 
and  she  has  prayed  there  that  the  God  of  the 
pale-face  would  hear  her.  She  h^  said,  often— ^ 
often:  'Mary!  Maryl'^V 

"And    heaver,    has    heard    your    prayer  1- 
exclaimed  the  priest.  v  ^    " 

"Kiskepila  has  thought  many  times  upon 
the  words  of  the  blackgown,^^  said  the  young 
Mohawk ;  and  pointing  to  the  Huron  captive, 
he  continued:  "Kiskepila  took  the  Huron 
captive:  and  he  told  him  over-  and  over- th# 
teaching  of  the  good  father,  that  he  might  not 
forget  it.  The  Mohawks  are  at  war  with  the 
French;  but  the  Mohawk  brave  has.oome  tithw- 
to  be  baptized.  £iodegp  has  gone  to  the  spirit- 
land,  and  Kiskepila  is  a  chief  in  his  village. 
Morning  Flower  often  talked  of  the  teaching 
of  the  blackgown,  and  would  seek  the  father  of 
the  pale-face.  She  has  come  with  the  mothei^ 
of  KiskepiW 

Father  Laval  learned  that  the  Indian  maidenil^ 


214 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


cherishing  his  instructions  in  her  memory,  and 
gaining  further  knowledge  from  the  Huron 
captiv^  had  refused*  to  become  the  wife  of  the 
chief;  except  through  the  Christian  sacrament: 
and  to  be  received  into  the  church  the  party 
had  undertaken  the  long  journey  to  Quebec, 
Kiskepila  informed  the  priest  that^  after  the 
surprise  at  the  village  and  the  departure  of  the 
victors,  the  Mohawks  had  not  reassembled  until 
late  the  next  day ;  that  then  a  strong  party,  With 
reinforcements  from  the  other  villages,  had  set 
out  in  pursuit,  but  that  after  an  ineffectual  chase 
had  returned,  having  lost  the  trail  upon  the 
banks  of  a  stream  of  water  that  flowed  into  the 
St.  Lawrence ;  that  he  had  explained  away  to 
them  the  cause  of  their  panic,  and  had  ever 
after  maintained  an  ascendancy  among  them, 
and  led  them  on  as  their  favorite  war-chief. 

Father  Laval  then  began  to  |uestion  the  two 
neophytes  upon  the  subject  of  religion.  He 
found  their  dispositions  good,  and  their  instruc- 
tion, so  far  as  it  had  gone,  solid  and  well  under- 
*  stood;  and,  after  consulting  with  his  superior, 
determined  that  they  should  be  baptized  on  the 


TEE   CONCLUSION: 


216 


morrow,  as  an  offering  to  God,  through  the 
Virgin,  on  the  feast  of  the  Assumption,  and 
as  a  dedication  of  the  nation  of  the  Iroquois 
to  Christ  under  her  invocation.  Accordingly 
he  placed  the  t^o  females  under  the  protection 
of  th«  nuns  of  the  Ursuline  convent,  with 
directions  that  the  maiden  should  be  further 
instructed  and  prepared,  by  means  of  an  inter- 
preter, for  the  reception  of  baptism  and  the 
sacrament  of  penance.  In  their  own  house 
Kiskepila  and  his  two  companions  were  shel- 
tered— Father  Laval  that  same  evening  attend- 
ing the  necessary  preparations  on  the  part  of 
the  young  chief. 

With  the  dawn  of  morning  rung  out  the 
joyous  peals  of  the  church-bells  for  the  festival 
of  the  Assumption.  The  city  was  thronged; 
many  of  the  colonists  from  the  country  had 
assembled  to  celebrate  the  festival  in  the  capital. 
Crowds  of  strangers  and  Indians  filled  the 
streets.  The  military,  in  all  the  pomp  and 
circumstance  of  war,  were  drawn  out  in  long 
array,  preparatory  to  marching  to  the  cathedral 
to  assist  at  the  holy  sacrifice.     At  length  the 


\ 


216 


THE   CONCIrUSION. 


pealing  bells  again  rung  out^  the  solemn  chant 
arose  in  the  holy  temple,  the  deep-toned  organ 
swelled  up  its  lengthened  aisles.  All  Quebec 
had  gathered  there,  for  the  rumor  had  ^oc3 
forth  that  an  interesting  ceremony  was  to  be 
performed  at  the  cottGlusiott  of  the  bishop's 
solemn  mass.^  The  hour  came.  Kneeling  at 
the  baptistery,  before  the  sacred  font,  were  two 
figures— an  Indian  warrior  and  a  female.  Over 
the  head  of  the  latter  was  thrown  a  light  veil  of 
muslin,  through  which  her  jet-blax5k  hair  showed 
ita  glo^y  bu^She  wa.  clothed  in  a  Beat  W 
of  spotless  white.  Beyond  them  knfelt  a  crow4 
of  mingled  colonists  and  natives.  Beside  the 
sacred  fcnt  stood  up  the  Jesuit,  Father  Laval, 
enrobed,  and  holding  his  missal  in  his  handi^ . 
On  either  side  were  acolytes,  with  lighted  ttipei^ 
in  .their  hands.  The  ceremony  proceeded  jit^ 
w^  idnished;  and  lirith  extended  hands  the 
priest  bestowed  upon  them  his  blessing.  Thi 
neophytes  arose.  In  solemn  procession  they 
moved  towards  the  altar.  The  priest  enterecf 
jvithin  the  sanctuary,  and  they  stood  before  him. 
He  joiiied  their  hands;  he  placed  the  sacred 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


217 


ring  upon  the  finger  of  the  maiden;  he 
uttered  the  final  blessing  of  the  church  upon 
those  who  worthily  enter  into  the  holy  bonds 
of  matrimony,  and  the  afiecting  scene  was  ended* 
Tears  gathered  in  the  eyes  of  Father  Laval  as 
he  uttered  th^  last  prayer.  Two  years  ago  liiat 
very  day,  upon  the  feast  of  the  Assumption,  he 
had  run  the  gauntlet  in  the  villages  of  the* 
Mohawk.  These  two  young  souls  were  now 
before  him,  the  first  fruits  of  his  toils  and 
sufierings,  through  the  merits  of  Christ,  and  he 
returned  thanks  to  God  for  his  goodness  in 
sending  him  so  abundsmt  consolation.  At  thid 
moment  a  Huron  pressed  through  the  kneeling 
crowd,  advanced  towards  the  Mohawk,  and 
stretching  out  his  hands,  exclaimed: 

^'Kiskepilal  there  has  been  war  between  thy 
people  and  my  people.  Let  the  hatchet  be 
buried.  Let  the  tree  of  peace  spring  up,  and 
the  Mohawk  and  the  Huron  will  rest  together, 
like  brothers,  under  its  shade.  It  is  the  spirit 
of  the  religion  which  thou  hast  embraced.'^ 

"  The  words  of  the  chief  of  the  Hurons  are 
gbodi    Kiskepila  loveth  peace!    He  has  oome 

19 


\ 


^WBP^P 


218 


TEE   CONCLUSION. 


unarmed  into  the  fortress  of  his  brothers.  The 
blackgown  has  taught  Kiskepila  that  they  are 
the  lovers  of  peace,  the  merciful,  and  the  forgiv- 
ing, who  are  to  be  happy!"  and  the  young 
Mohawk  grasped  the  hand  of  Ahasistari. 

"The  lion  and  the  lamb  ishall  lie  down 
together — it  is  true;  the  Mohawk  and  the 
Huron  are  friends,"  said  a  voice,  and  the  figure 
of  L'Espion  Hardi  was  seen  passing  down  the 
aisle  of  the  cathedral  with  a  sad  and  pensive 
step. 

Together  the  two  chiefs  knelt  before  the  altar, 
and  with  uplifted  hands  t}ie  priest  besought 
blessings  from  heaven  on  the  union,  and  peace 
thus  made  and  cemented  by  the  solemnities  of 
his  holy  chtirch. 

"O  God!  I  thank  thee  for  thy  ineffable 
goodness  to  thy  unworthy  servant !  '*  exclaimed 
the  Jesuit  as  he  departed  from  the  church  with 
a  happy  heart.  "Thou  didst  turn  my  steps 
from  the  beaten  ptffch*  to  those  who  had  already 
heard  thy  Gospel,  to"  tread,  in  sorrow  and  cap- 
tivity the  way  to  the  darkened  heathen;  and 
thou      1st  there  make  me  plant  in  sadness  and 


imjywHWiiii  lining.  ■     "*■" 


•VT" 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


219 


V  V 


\- 


suffering  the  seed  which  has  this  day^  through 
thy  grace,  borne  fruit  in  peace  and  joy.  Thou 
guidest  our  steps  and  directest  our  energies. 
Truly  out  of  seeming  evil  thou  dost  bring  forth 
good.'' 

In  that  year  a  solemn  treaty  of  peace  was 
formed  between  the  French  and  the  Iroquois, 
and  a  mission  was  founded  in  the  Mohawk 
valley.  And  although  interrupted  by  outbreaks 
of  the  savages,  and  interrupted  by  wars,  it  con- 
stantly revived,  until  at  a  period  of  ten  years 
later,  "there,  in  the  heart  of  New  York,  the 
solemn  services  of  the  Roman  Catholic  church 
were  chanted  as  securely  as  in  any  part  of 
Christendom,"  * 


*  Bancroft,  III.  p.  118. 


